The Eleventh Hour
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: This was all Steve's fault. The entire case had been Steve's idea, after all. And now, here they were. Handcuffed to chairs, back to back, in a deserted warehouse, in the Middle of Nowhere, Hawaii, with two idiots holding guns threatening them.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Eleventh Hour

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I don't know why my muse insists on me writing longer fics, but it did, and so here's my first H50 chapter fic. This will have 13 parts, I believe and I should be posting on a regular schedule. Much thanks to geminigrl11 for providing a beta and consistent encouragement and squee. As for my other beta, moogsthewriter, let me just say that almost anything I write these days is ENTIRELY her fault. I mean that in the best way possible of course because if she makes me insane, she also makes me smile :) Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

A/N: This first chapter is a bit on the short side, but the action starts quickly from here on out. I promise :) Also, general note, title was snagged from the song "The Eleventh Hour" by Jars of Clay, which was going through my head while I wrote the majority of this.

Summary: This was all Steve's fault. The entire case had been Steve's idea, after all. And now, here they were. Handcuffed to chairs, back to back, in a deserted warehouse, in the Middle of Nowhere, Hawaii, with two idiots holding guns threatening them.

-o-

HOUR ONE

It was a normal day.

That was to say, of course, that it was anything but normal. Because with a partner like Steve McGarrett, normal was a foreign concept, almost a complete impossibility. Because _normal_ in Steve McGarrett's world involved a multitude of firearms and a full array of armed conflict. The more shots fired and things that went boom, the better.

And that didn't even begin to touch on the other abnormal normalities of life with 5-0. There were frequent high speed chases, often involving an exchange of weapons fire and the destruction of personal property. There was a total disregard for police procedure. In the world of Steve McGarrett, full discretion and means apparently meant that it was okay to infringe on a suspect's rights at any point in the proceedings, including but not limited to: bashing their face in, drugging them and taking them in, and forcibly entering private premises.

Oh, and hanging suspects off buildings and throwing them in shark cages.

With this amount of insanity, it was a wonder that the worst Danny had done was tie a guy to the hood of a car. There was no feasible way he could be expected to stay sane under such conditions, because what kind of job involved making the utterly and ridiculously abnormal a part of everyday life?

In short, being Steve's partner was throwing Danny's world off its axis, and he found himself creating new ways to compromise police procedure in order to rectify Steve's incessant disregard for it despite Danny's tried and true training to the contrary. Sure, he could give up and just follow along with it all, but then Danny would become like Steve, and there was no way he was ready to start stripping his shirt and carrying around a bathing suit in his back pocket like some possessed superhero with a martyr complex that just wouldn't stop.

And it wouldn't stop. Ever.

It was all Danny could do to get up in the morning, come to work, and ride it all out-all the high profile cases and questionable investigative techniques and endless amounts of peril.

And still, he did it. Not without complaint, because, well, he liked to complain, but he still figured that getting up and showing up on time was worth something. Because one of them had to be vaguely aware of normalcy and since no one on the island seemed aware of time or professional attire, Danny really did figure it was up to him to keep it all going. If he didn't, they might all get sucked into a vortex of insanity, and Danny wouldn't find his way out until he could afford a plane ticket back home to visit his mother.

Who, for the record, would probably disown him if she knew what he was really up to in Hawaii.

Hell, he'd probably disown himself if that were entirely possible, but he needed the job and as much as Steve and the rest of the team probably deserved to flutter off into tropical oblivion for the extent of their antics, Danny was somehow responsible for them, albeit against his will, and he was the kind of guy who took responsibility seriously.

So when Danny had a _normal_ day, it was really anything but, and the fact that he was getting used to that sort of pissed him off more than anything else.

To think, he actually liked doing paperwork now. It was the only time he felt safe, able to fall back into familiar routines and patterns. Where police protocol mattered and his extensive knowledge could thrive in its proper context.

In fact, that was what was on Danny's plate today and he was downright _giddy_. They'd managed to wrap up a case yesterday, something ridiculous involving arms dealers and gangsters, and Danny was taking some time to finesse the paperwork. As far as he was concerned, he could spend the whole day on this. After all, if he was in his office, then he wasn't off getting shot at or driving onto boats or something equally asinine and dangerous.

And really, as few perks as his job at 5-0 had, he had a nice office. With a big desk and file cabinets all his own and a chair that didn't hurt his backside after ten minutes. He got to put up pictures of Jersey and the city and Grace and _this_ was the good kind of normal.

A half hour of pure bliss.

Until Steve showed up.

He had a file in his hand and he made a beeline to Danny's office, knocking once before coming in.

Tossing the file at Danny, he said, "Read that on the way."

Danny lifted his eyebrows, fingers still at the computer keys. "Read what on the way where?"

Steve nodded. "Our next case," he said.

"I'm still finishing the last case."

Steve made a face. "We finished that yesterday."

Danny inclined his head. "Yeah, and we engaged in a massive exchange of gunfire that led to the hospitalization of two suspects. We have to account for every bullet. Oh, and I have to explain why we had probable cause to enter the premises or we risk the entire case getting thrown out of court for improper procedure."

Steve didn't quite roll his eyes, but he came close. "You can finish that later."

Danny balked, leaning back in his chair and swiveling a little, arms in front of him. "Later? You mean, between raids and busts? Or are we looking at a nice old-fashioned chase today?"

Steve smiled a little. "Neither," he said. "We'll start off simple, just like you like it. A little investigation."

Danny's eyes narrowed.

"Look at the file," Steve said emphatically. "I even got a warrant this time, just to make you happy."

Danny's face lit up and he reached out to the file with new interest. "You mean you know how to get a warrant?"

This time, Steve did roll his eyes. "You'd better come now, or I'm driving," he said, and promptly turned to the door.

It only took Danny a minute to ascertain that the warrant was in fact legitimate, signed by a judge and all, and then realize that if he wanted to keep his car in one piece for another day, he'd better get off his ass and follow. Quickly.

Because this was just a normal day for Danny, and he knew all too well what that could mean.

-o-

The car ride was long.

Not just because traffic on the island was stupid, but because Steve didn't seem capable of providing a straightforward assessment of the facts. Every time Danny asked a question, they seemed to get waylaid on some side point, and more than once ended up arguing about the music on the radio.

If the warrant was a step in the right direction, Steve's desire to play backseat driver was two steps backward, and no, it didn't matter if Steve was in the backseat or the passenger's seat or the driver's seat: he was insufferable.

Worse, their destination was a warehouse.

A damned abandoned warehouse.

It looked intact, but the windows were dusty and the parking lot was empty. Empty warehouses, whether in Hawaii or New Jersey, were bad news as far as Danny was concerned. They were ideal hotbeds for criminal hideouts, and if working a case with Steve made him nervous most of the time, working a case with Steve that involved a supposedly abandoned warehouse set him completely on edge.

Of course, it didn't help that they were actually on the trail of an escaped convict. Sure, they'd been there and done that, but this is what Danny did know from Steve's piecemeal delineation of the facts: Andrew Blaine, convicted felon, had made his escape on the down low, making it out of the joint without being seen. The cops were still trying to piece that one together, and the governor had assigned 5-0 to track the son of a bitch down.

And he was a son of a bitch. He'd been in for 15 years on charges related to drug trafficking and Steve's best working theory was that Blaine was after some of the missing money that was never recovered upon Blaine's arrest.

So they had a felon on the loose with the means and capabilities to break out of prison without anyone noticing while also possessing the proper motivation to continue breaking laws on the outside in order to right some criminal sense of karma when all was said and done.

And none of that really explained to Danny why they were at a _warehouse_.

"Seriously," Danny said, looking up at the warehouse. He still had his hands on the wheel, hopeful for some kind of reprieve. "Why are we here again?"

Steve sighed, with some semblance of exasperation. He was sifting through the file again, and didn't look up. "I told you. This address is listed on Blaine's records. He owned it before he went into the joint."

Danny squinted out the window, appraising the low-lying building again. "Not exactly prime real estate," he mused.

Steve glanced up. "Still looks nicer than your place."

"Ha ha," Danny said. "Instead of thinking of ways to insult me, why don't you tell me why this place actually matters?"

Steve looked down again. "Blaine sold it right before he was convicted," he said. "To some guy named Malcolm Barnes."

Danny shrugged. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"No, Barnes doesn't have a record."

"So, I will ask it again. Why are we here?"

Steve drew a breath. "How much do you think a place like this costs?"

Danny considered that. "In this over-inflated wasteland? A mil?"

"So why did Barnes pay out five million?"

Danny lifted his eyebrows. "There's something extra special here worth buying, then."

"And something worth selling, too," Steve agreed.

"The missing cash?" Danny asked.

"Hard to say," Steve said, looking up at the building again. He glanced back to Danny, a small smile tugging his lips. "But there's one way to find out."

Danny groaned. "Shouldn't we have brought backup?"

Steve gestured at it. "It's abandoned. No sign that Blaine's been here. I just want to see what's inside."

"These things never go the way you tell me they will," Danny protested.

Steve made a face, shrugging. "Isn't this how police work is done? Finding a lead and following it?"

"Yes, it is," Danny agreed, turning to look at Steve fully. "And if we were in New Jersey, I would normally say, no problem. Let's go into the creepy warehouse with no backup. But here? With you? I'm not sure it's even safe for me to be sitting in the same _car_ as you half the time. I mean, you carry your gun around like it's an extension of your arm, not a last resort!"

"I like to be prepared."

"Being prepared is carrying a pocket knife and looking for little old ladies to cross the street," Danny countered. "You are a walking disaster. Just being close to you decreases my life expectancy by ten years."

Steve stared at him. "Are you done?"

Danny sighed, bristling. "Do we have anything else on this place?"

"Just that it's been vacant since Barnes bought it," Steve explained. "That doesn't seem too bad, does it?"

Danny worked his jaw stubbornly. "We should still have backup."

"We have a warrant," Steve assured him.

"And where are Chin and Kono?"

"Looking into Blaine's known contacts," he said. "Now are you coming, princess?"

Danny scowled. "You at least could have told me to bring a vest."

Steve opened his door, getting out. "I promise if bullets start flying, you can hide behind me," he said, moving toward the door.

Danny followed, getting out and keeping pace. "You know, I may take you up on that."

Steve smirked just a little, pulling his gun as he approached the door.

Danny pulled his as well, moving gingerly on his feet now as they approached. Vacant or not, anything tied to an escaped convict was potentially problematic, and if Danny had learned anything from his time with 5-0, it was that luck didn't break their way often-at least not without extensive gunfire involved.

At the door, Steve sidled off to one side, and Danny fell into position along the other. Tentatively, Steve reached his hand out, testing the knob.

When it opened easily, Danny tensed, and Steve's gaze lifted to meet Danny's.

Steve nodded, pulling his gun a little higher.

Swallowing, Danny pushed away his inner commentary and did the same. There was a time to complain and there was a time to focus. With his life and Steve's on the line, it was definitely time for the latter.

Steve nodded once. Danny nodded back.

Then Steve kicked the door all the way open, moving in high.

Danny followed, pulling up low, letting his gun lead.

Heart pounding, he took in the room. Saw the empty office, with a lone desk and a few chairs. The boxes stacked along the far wall. Small debris scattered throughout.

No movement. No danger.

Steve was moving quickly, clearing the corners and checking the office. Danny took the remaining crevices, turning back around to get a good look at the door they'd entered through.

"Clear," Steve said, lowering his gun and walking back toward Danny.

Danny nodded, letting his own gun down, but not quite able to still his heartbeat, to shake the feeling. Something was wrong. This was too easy.

Then he saw the movement, fluttering from above. Someone landed behind Steve. Danny lifted his gun in an instant, opening his mouth to call out a warning when everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much for the response to part one! And here begins the heart of the plot, which is never what I feel best about writing, but you can't have a fic of this length without something tying it together so hopefully it works :)

HOUR TWO

Steve always knew where he was.

Over the years, he'd come to recognize it as the rare gift that it was. Even during his time in the Navy, when he was continually on the move and had missions that sometimes took him way off the map and away from anything familiar, he always instinctively knew where he was. He knew when he was in a barracks in South Korea. He knew when he was at a Naval base in the Philippines. He knew when he was in Catherine's bedroom during leave. He knew when he was at home, tucked up in his father's house, during the few times he made the sojourn home.

He knew if it was safe and if it was dangerous. Hell, he usually even knew the weather and if he needed to pull his gun right away or if a smile and a good morning kiss were in order.

Steve just knew.

And right now, he knew he was in a lot of trouble.

Before he opened his eyes, in the split second when consciousness was still coming back to him, he knew that he was tied up in the warehouse.

No, not tied up. Handcuffed. Handcuffed to a chair, seated upright, and the entire damned thing had been a trap he'd walked right into.

So when he opened his eyes and saw the kid with the gun, it wasn't that much of a surprise.

The kid was jittery, shifting from foot to foot. A first timer, from the looks of it. Steve didn't recognize the face.

"Nice of you to join us, McGarrett," came another voice.

The kid jerked his head to the side, and Steve followed his gaze and pressed his lips into a grim smile. "Blaine," he said coldly.

It should have been his first guess. It would have been his first guess if he'd had the time to guess at all. This entire case had started no more than two hours ago, when he first got the file. He hadn't even taken the time to go through all the details or brief the team on all the ins and outs. They were still _investigating_. The kidnappings and confrontations were supposed to come later.

Andrew Blaine, however, clearly had different ideas. Sauntering up, Blaine had a gun of his own, a revolver strapped visibly to his waist. It was much smaller than the kid's rifle, but just as deadly. Especially in the hands of a guy like Blaine.

The other man smiled, revealing a white row of polished teeth. His hair was equally well manicured, parted and gelled. The dress shirt was something Danny might covet, with its crisp collar and gleaming buttons. Of course, that one shirt probably cost more than all of Danny's wardrobe combined, so it was really hard to say.

The thought tripped Steve's senses and he remembered another piece of the puzzle. He hadn't been searching this warehouse alone. Taking his eyes off Blaine, he spared a moment to look over his shoulder and he caught a glimpse of his blonde partner at his back, handcuffed and still unconscious.

"I must say, capturing you was almost disturbingly easy," Blaine continued, coming to a stop a few feet shy of Steve. He gave the former Naval officer a discerning look. "The cop, I didn't expect much of, but your file suggests you're much better than you are. You must have gotten soft after you left the Navy. Though, as the governor's handpicked leader against crime on the islands, you still have a little room for improvement, don't you think?"

Steve fought back the embarrassment. There was a time to reevaluate his tactics later. Right now, he needed to ascertain the situation and start devising some kind of exit strategy. "What do you want, Blaine?" Steve asked stiffly, his eyes narrowed in on Blaine.

Blaine's smile widened and he gestured affably. The kid behind him shifted on his feet and swallowed. "What makes you think I want anything? I'm an escaped convict," he said with feigned innocence. "I'm going to watch my back."

"If you were just interested in protecting yourself, you would have killed us outright and not stuck around to worry about the mess," Steve replied flatly.

Blaine seemed to consider that. "When you put it like that, it is a rather tempting offer."

Steve lifted his head. "So why didn't you?"

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest, tapping at his gun absently in its holster. "You're really going to ask that? You? Of all people?"

The fact that he had been the one who exposed Blaine the first time around had crossed his mind, but there had been nothing in the case file to suggest that Blaine was holding a grudge. At least, not a grudge that he would act on. He had considered the possibility, of course, which was why he'd wanted to jump into the investigation so quickly. Steve liked to think of his cases as done deals, sealed irrevocably when he deemed them done. Blaine's escape was creating a rather unpleasant loose end, and nothing in the case had stuck out to him the first time around that made him think it would come to this.

Blaine, however, had been busy in the time since they last saw each other, and Steve didn't like the implications of this already.

Steve worked his jaw and considered his options. Blaine was toying with him still, which made sense. Blaine was a highly trained man. His orchestrated escape from prison approached genius levels, and if he'd taken the pains to capture Steve and Danny alive, there was still a bigger endgame in play. Steve had simply assumed that Blaine wanted his freedom and the money he'd pilfered years ago.

There was clearly more to it than that.

Steve's eyes flickered from Blaine and back to the kid, who watched the interaction uncertainly. Steve nodded toward him. "Who's the kid?"

Blaine glanced quickly over his shoulder with a dismissive shrug. "I forget you haven't met Malcolm," he said. Then he gestured to the kid, stepping aside to give Steve a good view. "McGarrett, this is Malcolm Barnes."

The name registered. This kid was the owner from the warehouse. His notion that Blaine's sale of the property had been somewhat less than legitimate, and seeing the kid in person, Steve was even more certain in that assertion. The kid looked hardly old enough to be out of high school, much less capable of affording the high price tag on the property. This kid either had all the wrong friends or some kind of problem that compromised him entirely.

"Malcolm's already met you, of course," Blaine continued. "He's been watching you quite nicely for the last hour. Which, I must say, an hour? I didn't hit you that hard, Lieutenant. Or, wait, it's Lieutenant Commander now, isn't it?"

"I'm working for the governor now," Steve said shortly, trying not to notice the throbbing in his skull. He worked his fingers in the cuffs, finding them without much wiggle room. "So are you just going to make me guess why we're here?"

Blaine shrugged. "I'm here because of business with my good friend Malcolm. You're here on some foolish investigation. It's something of a happy coincidence, I think."

Somehow, Steve doubted that. This had been an elaborate set up. Well-planned and even better executed. But the why was still something of a question. If Blaine wanted his money, holding them hostage wouldn't do him any good. Which meant that this wasn't about the money. Or not just about the money. It was about Steve himself.

He lifted his chin, meeting Blaine's eyes with a new air of defiance. "This is revenge?"

Blaine's eyes darkened and his smile turned cold. "It's a lot of things, McGarrett," he said. "After all these years, I would have hoped you could see more shades of gray."

"I see gray just fine. But what I see right now is a escaped convict with two of the governor's task force in his custody so he'd better make a move and make it quickly before he gets caught."

The humor returned to Blaine's eyes. "I forgot how bullheadedly brave you could be. You're the one handcuffed and you're still making threats. Not very smart, you think?" He nodded back to Malcolm. "Especially since the kid's got a twitchy trigger finger."

On cue, Malcolm swallowed, his gun shaking in his hands.

Steve looked back at Blaine. "So why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"Maybe there's nothing to tell," Blaine suggested banally.

"You would have killed me by now," Steve returned harshly.

Blaine frowned. "And miss out on all this fun? No, you're still useful to me."

"Fine," Steve agreed, wriggling his fingers with new vigor. "Then let Danny go."

Blaine's eyebrows went up. "But Detective Williams hasn't even joined the party yet."

"You don't need him," Steve reiterated, more forcefully this time.

Head cocked, Blaine started walking. "Again, you are in no position to tell me anything," he said, and meandered closer to Danny.

Steve pulled at his cuffs, trying desperately to move.

Blaine smiled at him with pity. "That's cute, McGarrett," he said. "I had no idea you could be so _loyal_."

The sarcasm was not lost on him. Steve jerked again, face twisting angrily. "Loyalty is for those who deserve it," he said vengefully.

Blaine endured the barb with a vague humor as he sidled closer to Danny's still recumbent form. "Such as Detective Williams here? You haven't been partners too long, but you do have an impressive track record."

"I swear to God, Blaine," he hissed, trying to kick his feet out without much effect. "If you touch him-"

Blaine blinked innocently. "Touch him? You mean, like this?" he asked, then he poked Danny playfully in the shoulder.

Danny didn't twitch.

Blaine's smile turned malicious. "Or maybe like this?" he offered, and reared back his hand, slapping it hard against Danny's face.

Steve cringed at the impact and resisted the urge to curse as his partner's weight shifted and there was a groan.

Stepping back, Blaine looked down in satisfaction. "Detective Williams," he said. "How nice of you to join us."

There was more movement at his back, and Steve could just make out Danny's head rolling loosely on his shoulders. His partner groaned again. "Damn," he muttered, his voice sounding a little hoarse but strong enough. "I feel like I just got pummeled by a steam roller. Or maybe a bulldozer. Something big and ridiculous and..." Danny's voice trailed off and his movements seem to still for a moment. "We got knocked out, didn't we?"

"Nice detective work," Steve quipped dryly.

"Oh, so you're going to blame me for this one, too, huh?" Danny asked, and Steve felt him shifting at his back. His voice gained momentum. "Wasn't this your lead? Your case? And now here we are, handcuffed with two guys pointing guns at us."

"Only one is pointing a gun, and it's not even at us," Steve observed.

"Oh, okay. So we're going to split hairs now. I'm not seeing how the lack of pointing makes us any less _screwed_."

Steve collected a breath and held it for a moment.

For his part, Blaine chuckled. "I'm not sure which one of you I pity more."

"Yeah," Danny said, in full ranting mode. "And who are you again?"

With a cordial incline of his head, Blaine smiled. "Andrew Blaine."

"Right," Danny said. "I should have guessed that. Must be the blow to the head, slowing things down a little bit. But now, ah, that we've got that squared away, maybe you'd like to tell me why we're handcuffed here?"

"Maybe your _partner_ would like to tell you," Blaine said.

"That assumes I want to talk to him right now," Danny said.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Blaine's looking for something, but he hasn't told me yet," he reported.

"What, and he thinks we know?" Danny asked.

"I'm counting on it," Blaine said with hearty assurance. "Or it really might not end so well for you."

"You mean since it's going so well right now?" Danny said. "But that still doesn't explain how you knew we'd be here. I mean, how long were you going to hang out here and hope someone showed up?"

"I do my homework, Detective," Blaine explained, walking back toward Malcolm. "I knew who was heading up this investigation."

"So this was a trap for me," Steve concluded plaintively.

Malcolm twitched a little, clearly nervous at the revelation, but Blaine just lifted his chin with a sneer. "I know how you're trained, McGarrett," he said smoothly. "I was just like you, after all."

"Until you got greedy," Steve said. "We're trained to protect our country, not steal from it."

Blaine laughed. "You really haven't changed, have you?"

From behind him, Danny was starting to get restless. "So, wait, you two know each other?"

Steve didn't take his eyes off Blaine. "We served together in the SEALs," he confirmed. "But then Blaine started skimming drugs and turning them around on the side. It got him a court martial and prison time."

Danny would probably want to know that Steve was the one who had turned Blaine in to begin with, but Steve wanted to keep the conflict to a minimum while they were handcuffed and had guns on them. Just in case.

"Of course. Served in the SEALs, skimming drugs, court martial and prison time. And you didn't think to tell me this before?" Danny asked and Steve didn't have to see his partner's face to know the look that was on it.

"It wasn't relevant at the time," Steve said evenly, because he didn't really want to talk about it and it really hadn't been relevant at the time, at least not from Steve's point of view.

"Wasn't relevant?" Danny sputtered with expected melodrama. "You take a case with an old friend-"

Steve knew how it sounded. It wasn't even hard to spin, and Steve was sure it would have come up eventually, but he hadn't counted on it being while they were handcuffed together in a warehouse. He hadn't made any efforts to hide the connection, but he'd been trying to figure out the details of the case before he even had a chance to consider that he was a part of this to begin with. "We were never friends," Steve said shortly, vainly hoping to spare them all the tirade that he was fairly certain Danny was just collecting steam for.

"-an old coworker, then, whatever," Danny clarified. "And you don't think you should let me know?"

"Aw, McGarrett, I'm hurt," Blaine said with mock pain. "We were rather close until you blew the whistle on me."

Steve winced. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to keep that morsel under wraps. In his defense however, he was close to a lot of the guys he served with in the SEALs. That was the nature of the business. Serving in extreme conditions brought people closer together; friendships were a convenient form of survival.

Still, when Steve had learned about what Blaine was up to, it hadn't been hard to turn him in, which was why their so-called friendship really hadn't been a pressing issue on his mind.

Somehow, though, he was fairly certain Danny wasn't going to see it that way. Physical pain was easy to endure but Danny's over the top responses to minor glitches in the plan were something else entirely.

Not to disappoint, Danny's head tipped back and he groaned. "You were the one who busted him?" he asked.

Steve didn't know if he wanted to apologize now or order Danny to just shut up already. Not that either would do any good. He glanced at Blaine, who was observing with detached amusement. The kid in the back still looked uncomfortable, and Steve could see a sheen of sweat starting to break out across his forehead.

"And you're just telling me that _now_?" Danny asked hotly. "I thought I warned you about making personal vendettas all the time."

"This wasn't a personal vendetta," Steve explained, as calmly as he could. He let his eyes drift from Malcolm to Blaine and then over his shoulder. He couldn't see much of Danny, but he could see enough to know the blonde was fully aware and alert and ready to milk this situation for all it was worth. When it came to Danny, Steve couldn't be sure how much was genuine emotion and how much was simply some emotional defect, but for now, it was buying them much needed time.

Blaine laughed, and Steve turned his attention back to their captor. "Maybe not for you," he said. "But I promise you, this was personal for me from the very beginning. Imagine my good fortune to not only break out of prison but to know that the one person I wanted to talk to was the one person who would come right to me when this all went down."

At his back, Danny shifted, his head moving backward, brushing Steve's. "So not only do you make everything a personal vendetta, but you inspire them in others," he continued. "Just when I think you can't be any more dangerous for my health, you go and prove me wrong. Here, maybe we should just tear my other ACL right now and get it over with. Go on. Do it. I've already used my deductible this year, so it won't cost me a dime."

"Does he always talk this much?" Blaine asked, head cocked thoughtfully.

"He's just getting started," Steve said grimly, and he worked his fingers in his handcuffs again, shifting just enough to see if he had any leverage whatsoever.

"You know I could do you a favor," Blaine said, stepping closer with a menacing gleam in his eyes. Steve stopped his efforts, stilling when he realized what Blaine was really talking about. "Shut him up for a bit."

"Hey, hey," Danny interjected quickly, hands twitching his bonds. "I already get stuck with this guy as a partner. On a daily basis. Do you know what that's like? You don't think I'm punished enough?"

Blaine actually seemed to consider that. "And now I'm really not sure who I pity more."

"Me," Danny said with confidence. "Me, me, and me again. Would you like to hear about what he did to me on the day we met?"

Steve wasn't sure who was insulting him more. Danny usually had his best interests in mind, but Blaine actually had valid reasons to be angry with him. Well, as valid as any criminal did. Danny's logic was simply incomprehensible nine times out of ten and his partner's rationale in this line of dialogue would perplex him more were he not so focused on getting out.

Which was the only thing this back and forth was good for. The more time they spent on the preliminaries, the more time Steve had to plot an escape route. Getting knocked out and handcuffed went against his better notions under any circumstances, and his desire to rectify that was pretty pressing.

Not to mention the fact that Danny's endless stream of words would eventually stop being a distraction and just get him hurt. They weren't there yet. They still weren't at the heart of the matter. If Blaine had taken the time to handcuff them this way, he wanted information. Steve didn't doubt that violence was on the table, but it was just the means, not the end.

Blaine offered Danny an indulgent smile. "Maybe another time," he said. "I'm afraid we do have other business to discuss."

"Business," Danny said. "You mean why you knocked us out and handcuffed us here?"

"I do apologize for that, Detective Williams," Blaine said with saccharine cordiality. "This really has nothing to do with you."

"It never does," Danny quipped.

"So what is it about?" Steve finally interjected.

Blaine turned his attention back to Steve, eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet."

Steve forced a smile. "I'm a slow learner."

"I can vouch for that," Danny chimed in, completely unhelpfully.

This time, however, Blaine did not seem to follow the distraction. Instead, he wet his lips, eyeing Steve critically. "Make a guess," he said.

Steve rolled his eyes, twisting his wrists in futility. "What's the point in that?"

"Good fun," Blaine said without hesitation. "I've gone to all this trouble. Please, be a sport, Lieutenant Commander."

"You didn't handcuff us to have fun," Steve said. "If this was about revenge, we'd be dead by now, no questions asked. You want information. So ask your questions."

Blaine actually looked bemused. "What, and you'll tell me what I want to know?"

Steve shrugged. "Depends what it is," he said. "What I've been up to-sure, no problem. A tip on good local pizza-I can do that."

"I didn't break out for _pizza_," Blaine said, the humor in his voice gone.

"I didn't realize criminals needed a reason," Danny muttered. "I mean, it's prison. You want to get out. That's the point, isn't it?"

Blaine's eyes flickered distastefully at Danny. "It is unpleasant, Detective Williams," he said. "And there's so much time to think. You're supposed to reflect on your wrongs, pay your debt to society. But I found it so much more interesting to think about how it all went wrong. I had a good thing going, you see. I was careful. I knew how not to get caught."

"You weren't that careful," Steve asserted.

Blaine chuckled. "And you weren't that good," he said. "Don't flatter yourself, McGarrett. I didn't bring you here because you were somehow my arch-nemesis who felled me."

Steve's eyes narrowed, his mind working. This was personal, but it wasn't that personal. This wasn't about the fact that it was Steve who blew the whistle, but about what Steve knew to make that call.

"Felled," Danny repeated. "I'm not sure I support the sentiment, but totally dig the vocabulary."

Blaine's gaze didn't waver as he honed in on Steve even more. "You got lucky with some information, and you used it against me. But it wasn't your information."

"It was a lot of information," Steve said. "Once we started kicking over rocks, all the dirty details came out."

"You were the one who blew the whistle, McGarrett, but I know you didn't figure it out on your own," Blaine said. "You had someone helping you. Someone gave you a tip, and I want to know who betrayed me and cost me everything."

The answer actually surprised Steve. "You want to know my source?" he asked plainly.

"What, you going to knock them out and kidnap them, too?" Danny sniped.

Blaine ignored Danny, focusing in on Steve. "Whoever told you about me, didn't tell you everything," he said. "I think whoever tipped you off told you just enough to take me down and snag some for himself."

"That's an interesting theory," Steve said guardedly.

Blaine's smile was forced. "One I can prove once you tell me the name."

Blaine had played his hand, and laid it out. Steve knew what Blaine wanted. More than that, he knew the answer to Blaine's question. Steve had had his share of assignments, and keeping track of the ins and outs of his fellow SEALs hadn't been one of them. He'd been cordial enough with Blaine, and if he had to be honest, he had never suspected Blaine as a criminal at all. That was the problem with people who were well trained in the art of deception-they could play it, even against people they called friends.

But when someone from inside the Navy had brought Blaine's activities into question, Steve hadn't been opposed to checking it out-and the whole fabric of Blaine's operation had come undone pretty easily with the intel he'd received. With all the dirt on Blaine and the supply line they'd managed to cut off, the investigation had closed pretty quickly, with few questions asked, even concerning the lingering missing funds. Steve had never had much of an active role in prosecuting Blaine-once he had the details from the source and confirmed their legitimacy, he'd turned it over and his part was done, and Steve hadn't thought about it until now.

Now, however, there was clearly a lot more to it. Worse yet, Blaine's theory actually made sense.

If the source was the leak, then Steve would handle that. But telling Blaine was not an option. Steve liked vigilante tactics, but he had no desire to let Blaine loose to commit more crimes.

Besides, giving Blaine what he wanted wasn't going to change their situation for the better. In fact, it would only hinder their position. Once Blaine got the information, there was no guarantee he wouldn't just kill them right then and there.

The trick to a hostage situation was to vie for power. When you didn't have a gun, you had to hold onto your value.

Steve's value existed in knowing the answer but not sharing it.

Decision made, Steve shook his head. "The case was a long time ago."

There was a flash of hatred in Blaine's eyes, but he stood back, straightening himself. "This could get messy very quickly, McGarrett," he said slowly. "For you, and your partner here."

"Messy makes it difficult to talk," Steve pointed out.

Blaine tapped the gun in his holster absently. "So does a bullet to the brain."

"I vote talking, no mess, no bullets," Danny chimed in. "Seems like a win-win all around."

Blaine regarded him coolly. "I would agree, Detective Williams," he said. "Perhaps you just need some time to consider the full gravity of this situation, McGarrett. Or maybe just to jog your memory."

Steve smiled. "Maybe these cuffs are cutting off the circulation to my brain," he said, giving the cuffs a shake for good measure.

Blaine didn't look impressed and turned his eyes to Danny. "Maybe you can try to talk to sense into him, for all our sakes," he said. "Malcolm and I will be in the other room. The view is clear, gentlemen, and I may have been in prison, but I don't doubt that my aim is still good enough to drop either of you from that distance."

Danny nodded his head. "Lovely," he said. "Though I have to say, Steve doesn't really listen to me. Steve doesn't really listen to anyone. He has a logic all his own."

"Pity," Blaine said. "Just remember that this polite request is only my first tactic and it is by no means my most enjoyable."

"That's great. That's just wonderful. Really reassuring, thank you," Danny muttered as Blaine turned and headed toward the office space. Malcolm jumped to follow, his steps uncertain as he trailed behind Blaine. "He wants me to change your mind. As if I've ever been able to change your mind. Or even make sense of your mind. And all this assumes that you even have a mind to change and aren't stuck on some weird army robot mode."

Steve tugged at the handcuffs, rolling his eyes. "It's the Navy. Especially in this case, I would think you could get that right."

"Oh, I'm sorry, the Navy," Danny corrected. "As if it matters what branch of the military service we're talking about when we're being held hostage."

"It might," Steve replied, trying to be helpful.

"It might," Danny repeated. "It might? Are you serious? It might? No, don't answer that, I really don't want to know."

"I wasn't going to answer it," Steve told him.

"Are you trying to annoy me?"

Steve rolled his wrists, feeling how far they could go before the metal cut into his skin. "Would it matter?"

Danny sighed, shaking his head. "No, probably not," he said finally. After a moment of silence, he continued. "Do you know who he wants to find?"

"Maybe," Steve said.

"That's not very definitive," Danny said.

"The less you know the better," Steve told him.

"Wait, wait, wait," Danny said, and Steve could feel him turn in his bonds. "Are you trying to protect me?"

Steve made a face. "It's the only logical tactical move in this case."

Danny snorted. "Logical tactical move, my ass."

"Trust me," Steve said.

"You mean like I was supposed to trust you in checking out this warehouse?"

Steve shrugged, looking around it. "I was right. It was a lead."

"It was a trap," Danny clarified.

"So definitely a place of interest," Steve concluded.

Danny shook his head again. "I hate you," he said. "I hate you _so _much."

As problematic as the predicament was, Steve had to grin, struggling with his handcuffs yet again.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Continued thanks to all who have reviewed and read :)

HOUR THREE

This was all Steve's fault.

Most things in Danny's life these days were Steve's fault. When they weren't, it was Rachel's or her lawyer's or the infamous Step Stan's and his latest exploits. They all caused Danny a serious pain in the ass, though usually Steve didn't seem as bad as the rest since he was the only one among them who hadn't tried to rip his heart out and stomp on it repeatedly.

Steve just tried to get him killed on a regular basis. In the bigger picture, at least that wasn't personal.

It still kind of sucked, though.

And this one took the whole damned cake and it really was _entirely_ Steve's fault. Hands down, no questions asked, Steve's fault.

The entire case had been Steve's idea, after all. The entire approach had been laid out with Steve's distinctive brand of insanity.

And now, here they were. Handcuffed to chairs, back to back, in a deserted warehouse, in the Middle of Nowhere, Hawaii, with two idiots holding guns threatening them.

To top it all off, Danny's head was now officially killing him, and he was actually not only handcuffed, but handcuffed to Steve, who refused to sit still and fidgeted in his cuffs nonstop, leaving hellish abrasions on Danny's wrists. Just in case he hadn't already been convinced that this was the worst case in his entire career.

It hadn't started out that way, of course, because these things never did. Steve always thought that cases would be easy and no big deal. He'd even had the audacity to promise Danny that this one would be a quick. They'd be done in plenty of time for Danny to pick up Grace from school.

Though, to be fair, if Danny had actually believed that, then some of this was his fault, too. Fool me once and fool me twice and all that crap, but _still_. This was mostly Steve's fault.

It had been Steve's case and Steve's lead and these morons were after Steve, not Danny, which meant that he didn't even have to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was a happy accident for these two idiots and now Danny was cuffed to a chair and to his partner playing the worst damn role in any bust ever. He was leverage. Human leverage. And if Danny hated playing back up to Steve's insane tactics, he hated playing human leverage to Steve's insane history even more.

And what was even more insane, just in case this wasn't insane enough, was that Steve didn't seem to mind. Sure, he was pissed and all, but freaked out? Concerned? Apologetic?

Of course not.

The guy was just sitting there, wriggling in his cuffs as though this was completely normal. Part of the plan.

"You're quiet," Steve noted, fingers flexing in the cuffs.

Danny snorted. "I thought you liked it when I shut up."

Steve jerked a little, yanking at the cuffs ineffectually and jostling Danny in the process. "It is less annoying," Steve said.

Danny rolled his eyes. "You get me knocked out and cuffed up and still insult me. Good to know that your winning personality shines in all situations."

"I'm just saying that you're quiet when something's bothering you," Steve clarified.

At that, Danny laughed in complete incredulity. He tried to crane his neck to get a better look at his so-called partner. "You think something's bothering me? I wonder what could _possibly _be bothering right now. Maybe the bleeding head wound or the bad guys who took our guns or the fact that we're handcuffed together in a warehouse with no one who is even aware that we're _here_."

"Chin and Kono have both been briefed on the case," Steve replied.

Danny shook his head again. "Did you tell them that this case was personal?"

"No, because it's not personal."

Of course it wasn't. At least Steve was consistent in his utter and blind stupidity. "Right, and the guy didn't set us up to get information out of you. Did you even tell them we were coming here?"

"They'll put it together."

"Right, when they start looking," Danny said with a nod of his head. "Which they probably won't do for awhile yet because they don't _even know we're missing_."

"We're not missing," Steve said, stubbornly now, and he tugged again. "We know exactly where we are."

Danny had the urge to throw his hands up, but the cuffs made that decidedly more difficult. "We're being held against our will by a pair of criminals with guns."

"Yeah, but it's not at an unknown location. We're not missing, just being held hostage. This place is in the paperwork. They'll find us."

It was hard to pinpoint which was more frustrating: the simplistic logic or the complete lack of urgency in his tone. "But only when they think we're missing!" Danny exploded finally. "Why can't you just admit that!"

From the office, Malcolm jumped, gun twitching at his side. Blaine took the outburst without much expression, merely looking at them carefully. Danny watched as Malcolm seemed to raise the gun, then drop it, taking his cue from Blaine. There was a pane of glass and a good fifty yards between them, but Danny knew with the right aim, it was still a pretty easy shot.

Danny's self-righteous anger simmered. He wanted to prove a point, but he had no strong desire to get himself killed in the process.

Behind him, Steve's fidgeting lessened a bit. "Admit what?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

"That we're in trouble," Danny hissed at him, glancing furtively at their captors again. "I want you to admit that we're up to our eyeballs in total crap right now and that we should be probably be doing something useful to fix that."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Steve asked.

"You mean fiddling with your handcuffs? Who are you now, Houdini?"

"No, but this is the most productive thing we can do," Steve said. "Negotiation in these situations is useless. They have all the power: they know it; we know it. We need to get out."

Danny had to laugh bitterly. "These are handcuffs, genius. They're designed to keep people restrained. That's why cops are so fond of them all over the country. All you're doing is chafing the hell out of my wrists."

"All handcuffs have an inherent weakness," Steve reported. "A design flaw that can be manipulated. I just have to find it."

The way Steve said it made it sound so simple. All handcuffs had an inherent weakness. Steve just had to find it. As if Steve could yank twice, twist once, rotate his thumb, and the whole damned thing would just pop loose.

Danny, however, knew better. Steve had the annoying habit of thinking everything was simple, even when it wasn't remotely simple. If given the choice, Steve would think taking down an armed bad guy with a fork was simple, so the fact that Steve wanted to believe that he could get out of his cuffs by twisting his wrists a few times was really to be expected. The trick, of course, was getting Steve to see how completely and totally ridiculous it all was. "And that's your plan?" Danny asked plainly, hoping his partner would see the ridiculousness of his efforts.

"You wanted something useful."

"Yeah, something useful, not ripped off from a _MacGyver_ rerun," Danny returned.

"Oh, and you think your ranting is useful?"

"Better than acting like there's no problem at all," Danny said primly, squaring his shoulders a little.

Steve was silent for a moment, and Danny could feel the tension in his back. His fingers twitched again in the cuffs. Finally, he said, "Okay, you're right. This situation is less than ideal."

Danny made a face. "Less than ideal?"

"Bad. This situation is bad," Steve said in frustration. "There, are you happy?"

Danny had no choice but to be somewhat mollified. "Relatively speaking-"

Steve swore. "Seriously, what do you want? I told you what you wanted to hear and you're still not happy?"

"Okay, okay," Danny returned in exasperation. "Thank you for acknowledging our predicament."

"Great," Steve said. "Now that we've got that squared away, maybe we can talk about how to get out of here."

"I can't wait to hear it," Danny muttered.

Steve twisted again, and Danny controlled a grimace as the cuffs bit into his skin again. "Well," Steve said, jerking a little harder now. "If we can get out of the cuffs-"

"Which is a big if at this point," Danny interjected.

"_If_ we can get out of the cuffs," Steve said again, more vehemently this time, jarring the cuffs with another good yank. "We'll have to play dumb for a little bit and look for the right exit."

Danny nodded, giving the notion the smallest notion of consideration. "The right exit, huh," he said, his eyes skimming the room. He stiffened a little under the narrowed gaze of their captors.

"When they're distracted, maybe," Steve said. "Or separated. If we can get them separated, one of us can be a distraction while the other escapes and gets the upper hand."

Danny nodded again, eyes not leaving their captors. The kid kept shifting the gun from one hand to another, while Blaine seemed to regard them coldly. If pushed, Danny would swear the man didn't even blink.

Swallowing uneasily, Danny tilted his head back toward Steve. "So you want to get out of the cuffs without them noticing. Act like we're still in the cuffs for some undisclosed amount of time. And then you want to separate this two jackasses and then have one of us distract them so the other can turn the tables and get the upper hand."

Steve paused in his work and then nodded. "Yeah, that's about right."

Danny snorted. "You do realize that that plan can fail at like fifteen different points."

"It can," Steve agreed. "But it doesn't have to."

Danny groaned, letting his head drop back to look at the ceiling. "You know, being kidnapped is one thing, but being handcuffed to a total lunatic is almost cruel and unusual."

"You could try being helpful, you know," Steve shot at him.

Danny made a face. "I am being helpful."

"Sitting there being argumentative is helpful?"

Danny shrugged in an attempt to move his arms. "I'm offering you critical feedback to help you refine this so-called plan."

"Critical feedback," Steve repeated with skepticism.

"Yeah, you know, so we don't end up getting ourselves blown to hell in the process."

Steve pulled upward, and Danny had to shift uncomfortably in response. "Remind me to thank you later."

"Don't worry, I will," Danny promised through gritted teeth. Then his stomach flipped, his movements stilling when he saw the door to the office open. He kept his eyes steady but inclined his head ever so slightly back toward Steve. "We've got company at our three o'clock."

Steve stilled immediately, his body stiffening behind Danny. "Let me do the talking."

"Since you're stellar at hostage negotiations."

"I know Blaine."

"Possibly more reason why you shouldn't handle this."

"Trust me," Steve hissed.

Danny wanted to reply - he did - because he trusted Steve, but this was a delicate situation and Steve had the decorum of a bull in a damn china shop. Danny didn't think he could afford that bill, especially since both of their lives were on the line.

But what could he do? Steve was asking for trust and Steve was his partner and Blaine was already there, his little lackey in tow.

Danny shifted, swallowing hard as he readied himself for what was likely to be a very unpleasant altercation.

For his part, Blaine stopped a few feet short and gave them a cold and magnanimous smile. "I hope you've used your time well, gentlemen," he said.

Danny swallowed a retort while Malcolm's gun twitched.

At his back, he could feel Steve lift his head and didn't need to look to know what defiant look was there. It took all of Danny's willpower not to wince in anticipation.

"You're wasting your time and ours," Steve said definitively. "I don't know anything."

Blaine's smile was bemused. "Do not test me, Lieutenant Commander," he said. "I know this ploy. Your denials are designed to give you more time. The longer you can keep yourself useful, the more time you think you have to mount some kind of escape or find some kind of rescue. Your time is even more limited than mine. Don't overestimate your position."

Danny had to give the guy credit: he knew what he was doing. And he knew Steve's plan pretty much inside and out. Of course, he hadn't delineated Steve's ridiculous desire to break out of the handcuffs, but the idea was implicit. For as much as Steve thought he was in control, it was clear that Blaine was just as confident from the other side.

Which meant Danny was stuck between two ex-Navy SEALs who were doggedly confident in their own abilities and plans.

While Danny couldn't be sure what that would mean for him, he was pretty certain that he didn't want to find out.

And he was even more certain that he wouldn't have a choice. At all. About any of this. And Danny couldn't decide what he resented more: that he was being held against his will for something he knew nothing about or that his partner's utter lack of common sense would probably get them killed and would most certainly lead to prolonged pain and suffering.

"I just don't you to pin your hopes on something that's not going to pan out," Steve said. "Since that hasn't worked so well for you in the past."

Danny stifled a groan. Of course Steve would antagonize the bad guy with a vengeance. _Of course_.

Blaine's eyes gleamed viciously. "Trust me, I've learned from my mistakes," he said, stepping closer. "No loose ends this time around. Which is why you will tell me what I want to know."

"Or what?" Steve snapped back. "You'll kill me?"

Blaine's stance shifted so quickly that Danny barely saw it change. The man surged forward, his fist swinging out. Danny didn't see it connect, but he heard the meaty thud against Steve's jaw and the force rocked them both to the side.

Danny swore, twisting frantically to get a look at his partner. "Steve," he called. "Steve!"

Blaine stepped back proudly, his hand still loosely gathered in a fist.

Behind him, Steve stirred, shaking his head and spitting briefly. "You know, it's not really impressive to hit a bound man."

Blaine inclined his head. "I'm not looking to impress you," he said.

Danny was still straining to get a glimpse of his partner because the guy was a moron, but he was still his partner, and if Danny was going to play backup to him, he was going to back him up, no matter what.

With a sudden movement, Blaine lashed out again, and the force of the hit to Steve's face rocked them both backward.

"I just want the name," Blaine said, voice like iron now as he stared down at them.

Danny cursed again, catching only a glimpse of Steve's head as it pitched forward and rolled drunkenly back before falling forward again. "Did you fail negotiation 101?" he said. He looked at Blaine again with incredulity. "You can't beat the crap out of your hostage if you want them to talk. I mean, sure, maybe take a few gut shots, kick a shin or something, but hitting people across the face with a closed fist is a surefire way to knock someone out. You knock them out, they can't answer your questions, even if they wanted to."

Blaine sneered.

Steve shifted behind him, not a lot, but enough to let Danny know his partner was still alive and probably even conscious.

Which made sense. Steve wouldn't have the common sense to pass out like a normal person, especially when it might benefit his health in the long run.

"It's not a negotiation," Steve said, his head lifting and lolling back ever so slightly against Danny's. "He knows he has to up the stakes for me to talk."

Blaine nodded with a measure of satisfaction. "Glad to see you understand where I'm coming from," he said, then he flung another fist which connected so hard that Danny could practical feel the bruise on his own skin.

Steve's weight sagged a little bit and Danny worked to get a glimpse, but could see nothing behind the bobbing of Steve's dark hair as he tried to pull himself upright again.

"So if you know the game and he knows the game and both of you are stubborn sons of bitches, what good are we exactly accomplishing from this?" he asked. He turned his eyes, imploring with as much common sense as he could muster. "You know even if Steve's hard head keeps him from passing out, he won't talk."

"Because there was no source," Steve panted, sounding ever so slightly slurred. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "I do believe Detective Williams is correct," he mused. "You will not be frightened into submission by physical force."

Danny sighed, feeling relief sweep over him. "See, exactly what I'm saying-"

But then a new spark gleamed in Blaine's eyes as he turned his gaze to Danny. "Steve McGarrett is a tried and true American hero. He won't give me what I want for his own life. But for someone else's..."

Someone else's. Danny was pretty sure that Blaine wasn't talking about the jumpy kid behind him.

He tried to smile, disarmingly if possible. He could be charming when he needed to, and even if it had been a few years since he'd really tried, he could always hope that it was a skill that didn't go away. Just like riding a bike. "There's no need to get hasty-"

Blaine apparently disagreed, and Danny barely had time to brace himself when Blaine's fist powered across his jaw.

His head jarred hard, his vision going black for a moment and his equilibrium failing him. When he realized his eyes were open and that he was looking at drops of blood falling on his pants, he wasn't sure how much time had passed.

However, he was pretty sure that that damn punch had just knocked loose a filling. Which meant that now Steve owed him for a dental bill.

"I told you, I don't know," Steve said, and his voice sounded strained now, an added touch of vigor in his denial.

"Funny, but I just don't believe you," Blaine said.

Danny blinked his eyes just in time to have his face bashed again. This time, the punch got him hard across the nose and pain exploded across his face, digging deep into his eye sockets and radiating through the back of his skull.

He sucked in a breath and gagged on it, fresh blood clogging his nose and running down the back of his throat.

Hacking, he worked through it, and found himself wishing that the maniac had gone for the ACL after all. At this rate, he'd be lucky to escape without permanent damage to his face. He'd always been sort of glad that for as much as Steve's antics led to his peril, they hadn't yet disfigured him.

Spitting, Danny swore again, shaking his head in a vain attempt to quell the ringing in his ears.

"That was your solution?" he asked with an incredulous gasp as he looked up at Blaine with hazy vision. "_That_? How did we go from _Steve's a stubborn asshole _to _beat the hell out of his partner_?"

Blaine shrugged with mock apology. "It was an inspired revelation," he said. "I do thank you."

Feeling a little hysterical, Danny laughed. "Thank me," he said. "Thank me. You think beating me will help get him to talk? Then you're even stupider than I thought. This is the man who dragged me from my job after meeting me for five minutes and then proceeded to get me shot. And as if that wasn't enough, he then decided to _yell_ at me while I was still bleeding because I saved his life all before he drove onto a boat with me inside."

"Do you have a point, Detective Williams?" Blaine asked, sounding a little bored.

Danny laughed again, looking at the ceiling with the tiniest sense of desperation. "Steve's not going to tell you anything," he said. He looked at Blaine, his smile fading as he heaved for air through his mouth. "My safety has always meant very little to him."

There was a lot of truth to that, but Danny knew it wasn't quite the full picture. Steve was stupid and reckless in his blind Navy SEAL kind of way, but he would never wish this kind of thing on anyone - especially not Danny.

At least, he hoped so.

Still, if it made this idiot stop pounding his face, he'd take it and run with it. Hell, he'd sprint a freakin' marathon with it at this point.

Blaine's eyes went from Danny to Steve.

Steve shook his head. "He has nothing to do with this, Blaine," he said, his voice low and deadly.

It was protective, which might have made Danny feel better if it hadn't just told Blaine everything he needed to know about their partnership.

Blaine smiled. "But he has everything to do with you," he said, almost cheerfully.

Happy bad guys usually meant unhappy good guys. It was the universe's attempt at balance, not that there was anything balanced about it at this particular moment. Because while Blaine had found his entry point, Danny had just remembered his relevance in this situation: the leverage.

AKA, the human punching bag.

The question was just who would break first: Steve, Blaine, or Danny himself?

The one thing Danny did know was that this was going to go from bad to worse to downright miserable pretty damn fast.

Still. Somehow, there was consolation in the fact that this time, Danny saw the fist coming a second before it smashed across his jaw and dropped him into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Those who have reviewed - you're awesome :) And you truly make my day!

HOUR FOUR

Steve didn't pass out.

He came close, but didn't quite get there. After Danny had been rendered unconscious again, Blaine had turned his attention back to Steve with short and violent passion. Getting slapped around didn't do much to him, but Blaine knew how to throw a punch to knock a man out, and when it came at him, there had been nothing Steve could do to dodge it.

Vision dimmed and ears ringing, he did drift for a while, making out the fuzzy confines of the warehouse with distant focus. He was aware enough to know what had happened but not quite aware enough to do much about it.

To the point, he'd been clocked pretty good. By itself, it might have only rung his bell, but compounded by the earlier blows to the head, it left him woozy and unsteady. Falling over would have been a likelihood were he not secured to a chair.

These simple thoughts ran through his head for a period of time, and he considered fleetingly if he had made some kind of tactical error to this point. If perhaps he should have seen the ambush coming or if he should have predicted Blaine's tenacious betrayal.

Still, regardless of whether or not he should have had more foresight, he had to deal with the plight now. Blaine wanted information. Steve had the information Blaine wanted but his motivation to negotiate with convicts, especially those who betrayed their country, was not high on his list of things to do. The key was to draw this out. Make it last. Keep himself a viable option until backup could discern his location and mount some kind of rescue.

Endurance was paramount. He had been in worse situations before. Failure was never an option, but a few blows to the head were collateral damage he would willingly suffer for the greater good. For now, Blaine knew the limitations of beating a hostage. A little bit could be convincing. Too much and you no longer had a hostage, but a coma patient. Blaine wanted a hostage. He would keep it in check.

But there were other uncontrolled variables. The kid - Malcolm. McGarrett didn't know anything about him other than the fact that he owned the building and paid way too much for it. From watching him interact with Blaine, it was clear he was barely along for the ride. He didn't have the stomach for this kind of thing, which meant he was in it for the paycheck or, more likely, coerced into participating out of greedy naivete. That could be useful. A kid without a record could always swing either way.

And Danny.

It was unclear whether or not Blaine had expected Steve to come alone, but either way, Danny was unnecessary baggage. Blaine didn't need Danny but he could use him.

Would use him.

But he was expendable.

Steve's stomach churned at the thought and for a second he felt like retching.

Then, his clarity shifted, coming into focus, and he blinked wildly at the realization of the fact that while he was drifting somewhere just within consciousness, Danny hadn't said a word.

Most days, Steve would consider that a blessing.

Today? It scared the hell out of him.

Because this was bad for Steve, and even though he didn't want to dwell on that point, he was at least aware of it. But it wasn't just bad for Danny. It could get him killed - and far sooner than Steve. With his own life on the line, Steve was willing to play his cards as needed, but with Danny's on the line, there was more to consider.

Contrary to what Danny liked to believe, safety was important to Steve. He took calculated risks because they made sense. The ends always had to justify the means in Steve's world, and he wasn't cavalier with safety but rather confident with his approach.

Half-conscious and handcuffed in a warehouse, however, did give his confidence reason to falter.

Squeezing his eyes, Steve fought off an encroaching headache and rallied his strength. He wasn't sure how much time had passed - no more than thirty or forty minutes, if he had to guess - but it had been more than enough. Steve wasn't one to wallow in his situation; he was a man of action.

Grimacing, he braced himself, pulling against the handcuffs once again. They clattered against the chair and the subsequent jostling made him open his eyes.

He squinted, trying to keep his headache at bay. For a moment, he reassessed their situation. The warehouse was large, but the exits were plentiful. If rescue was mounted, there would be ample routes in, which would also serve them well if Steve managed to get them out of the handcuffs.

The handcuffs, however, were something of a problem. Though he didn't want to admit it to Danny, getting out of handcuffs was no easy trick, at least not without the proper equipment. He'd even settle for a paperclip at this point, but with his hands behind his back, he didn't exactly have the luxury of looking for something to pick the lock. Repeated pressure on the stress points of the handcuffs might be effective, but that would take time, something Steve was not sure he had enough of.

Worse was that it wasn't just one pair of handcuffs, but two - one for Danny, one for himself. To help keep them in check, the links were tightly twined, giving Steve virtually no leverage to work with at all.

His legs were free, though, which was something. If he and Danny worked together, they might be able to get to their feet. Of course, the cuffs were locked below the backs of the chairs, so they'd have to walk with their chairs between them, but some mobility was better than none.

Looking around warily, he met the kid's eyes. While Blaine had retired to the office, reclined in a comfortable leather chair, feet up on the desk to make a phone call, he'd left the kid in his stead.

The kid didn't look much like well-trained enforcement, but Steve knew that anything resembling an escape would have to be made without the kid watching. But overpowering the kid would be difficult, especially with Blaine still close by.

In short, he had limited options. Getting out of the handcuffs was his best bet at escape, because then he could feign submission until the prime opportunity arose.

Of course, it was all kind of a moot point if Danny didn't wake up soon. Steve wasn't going to escape without his partner, but at the moment, escaping with him would be more than a little difficult.

Furrowing his brow, Steve focused on the cuffs again. Popping the lock would be impossible without some kind of pressure on the locking mechanism. Breaking the chains would be too noisy to accomplish, even if it were possible. Some well-placed hits might weaken the latch, but he had yet to feel any real give at all.

His lack of progress was more than a little frustrating. He probably should have just passed out and spared himself the anxiety.

His stomach churned at the thought. He couldn't help Danny if he passed out. Even if he wasn't in a position of power just yet, he knew that being awake and alert was his best chance of finding his way out and of making sure that no more harm came to Danny.

No _more _harm.

There was a twinge of guilt - and more than that, fear. It was like the first day he'd met Danny, when he'd dragged him to the gunrunner's house. Steve had been so focused on the goal - so intent on finding out how Hesse had gotten into the country - that little else had hardly registered. But when the gun fire had started, when he'd seen Danny go through the window - there'd been a moment.

He sometimes thought of himself as a man with nothing to lose. He sought justice with no reservations. He was willing to put his team into harm's way because he believed he could get them out safely.

But that moment of uncertainty when he couldn't see Danny-

That unknown fear now of not being able to assess his partner-

Made him question everything.

Looking over his shoulder, he strained to get a glimpse. Danny's head was still rolled forward, his blonde hair falling loosely out of place. Steve could make out a drop of blood on the end of Danny's nose and there was a bright red scrape along his cheek.

Probably superficial. Blaine didn't want Danny dead - yet.

But head wounds were funny things and Steve could dismiss his fears if he could just get a better look.

As he finagled, Malcolm shifted his position.

Steve glanced at him, noticing the frown on the kid's face.

"You shouldn't be trying anything," Malcolm warned, although his voice sounded far from menacing.

Steve considered his options. He needed to toe the line just a bit, but more so with Blaine than Malcolm.

In fact, he wasn't sure how much give and take he might have with the kid at all. It was worth trying to figure out - especially if it meant he could know more about how Danny was doing.

All things considered, it seemed like it might be a risk worth taking.

Steve shifted, clearing his throat.

Malcolm looked to him, eyes wide, but he made a clear effort to harden his face. "What?" he asked.

Steve swallowed and did his best to make himself look approachable. Malcolm was getting intimidated heavily by Blaine, and if Steve wanted to gain any access with the kid, it would have to be through alternative methods. "It's been awhile since Blaine left," Steve said.

Malcolm shrugged. "So? You ready to talk?"

Steve shook his head. "No, it's just..." He let his voice trail off and he chanced a glance over his shoulder. "My partner. He's been out for a while."

Malcolm looked cautiously from Steve to Danny's recumbent form. "He just got knocked out is all," he said, but his words weren't exactly full of confidence.

"I know a little bit about these things," Steve said, and that much was true. "He's been unconscious for more than ten minutes and has received multiple blows to the head within only a few hours."

Malcolm's frowned deepened and he lifted his gun higher reflexively. "What do you want me to do about it?" he asked defensively.

"Just tell me if he's okay," Steve said.

Malcolm's face screwed up and he shook his head. "Unless you want to talk about who set up Blaine, just shut up."

"I just want to know how he is, that's all," Steve reiterated.

"I'm your kidnapper," Malcolm shot back. "Not some medic."

"And he has nothing to do with this," Steve reasoned. "He doesn't know anything."

That seemed to cut Malcolm a little bit, and his expression wavered.

"I'm just asking you to check on him," Steve said, and he tried to look as innocent as possible. He didn't have ulterior motives in this request, but creating an air of vulnerability was likely to play on Malcolm's obvious uncertainty about the job.

Malcolm hesitated, glancing over toward the office. He chewed his lip, looking back at Steve with a furrowed brow.

"Just take his pulse," Steve said, doing his best to sound imploring. Even if he could feel Danny's breathing, playing the life or death card would be the quickest way to check the kid's true colors. "Tell me if he's alive."

Malcolm nodded a little convulsively, his gun dipping down as he stepped forward. Steve turned to see, and made out the kid fumbling with one hand, pressing fingers awkwardly to Danny's throat.

The kid's face was pale and he shifted, pressing his fingers in harder, as he tried to come up with some sign of life. Danny's blonde head rolled a little, but he still didn't stir.

Finally, Malcolm stepped away, blinking rapidly. "He's got a pulse," he confirmed. "Just, you know, knocked out. Like I said earlier."

Steve faked a sigh of relief. The information was scant - not nearly as much as he would have liked to know. If he had his way, he'd check breathing and respiration, gauge pupil response and pain reflexivity.

But Danny was alive. That was a relief, and even if Steve wasn't prone to showing it, showing some appreciation to Malcolm could be another critical piece of the puzzle. When employees felt taken for granted, a little gratitude from an outside source could be a powerful thing. "Thanks," Steve said, smiling a little. "It's been one hell of a day, huh?"

Malcolm frowned a little, his grip tightening on the gun. "I'm really not supposed to be talking to you," he said.

It was said as a defense, but it did little to hide the kid's growing vulnerabilities. "So Blaine calls all the shots?"

Malcolm stiffened a little. "Blaine is very persuasive," he confirmed. His eyes skittered away. "You should just tell him what he wants to know."

"What if I don't know?" Steve asked.

Malcolm looked at him, wide-eyed and serious. "Blaine doesn't accept no as an answer."

It was clear that Malcolm knew this from experience. Steve swallowed, then decided to press his luck. "Is that why you're here?"

Malcolm startled, face going blank for a moment.

"Did Blaine force you into this?"

Promptly, Malcolm's face darkened and he shook his head, lifting the gun a little in a meager attempt to be menacing. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said. He looked toward the office and lifted his chin in a vain attempt to appear intimidating. "So unless you want to tell me who your informant was, I suggest you shut the hell up."

Steve attempted to shrug. "I'm just saying that you don't have to be anyone's enemy right now," he said. "I ran your name when it came up on the warehouse. You don't have a record, Malcolm. Nothing has happened here that you can't come back from. As long as Danny and I walk out of here in one piece, this can still end right for you."

There was a brief moment of indecision on the kid's face, but he shook his head promptly. "We'll be long gone before any of it matters," Malcolm said, but his confidence was shaky.

"Do you believe that?" Steve prodded. He glanced at the office. "Blaine went down once for this thing. He's not going to go down again and by kidnapping us, he's proven that he'll do anything to get what he wants. Even throwing his partner under the bus."

Malcolm's expression tightened, but he shook his head. "I've got too much of an investment in this," he said. "Blaine needs me."

Steve shrugged a little. "You think he'll have any problems disposing of three bodies instead of two?"

Malcolm blanched, but recovered quickly, his expression dark with anger. "No one has to die here," he said. "Just tell us what we need to know, and it's over. Just like that."

Just like that. There was some truth to it. The minute Blaine got the information he wanted, Steve knew he'd have a bullet between his eyes and that Danny probably would, too. He had no way of knowing for sure if Malcolm would be another casualty or not, but Blaine was seasoned enough as a criminal that Steve wouldn't put it past him. It was clear Malcolm was nervous and new. It made him useful and expendable all at once.

Still. Steve knew he couldn't push it that far just yet. If he did, he risked Malcolm losing his tenuous control or, just as bad, alerting Blaine that he was up to something.

He cast a glance toward the office. Blaine was still on the phone, but his eyes were steady on Steve.

Swallowing, Steve adjusted in his seat. He looked to Malcolm again and offered a semblance of a smile. "Just like that, huh?"

Malcolm nodded tightly.

Steve didn't disagree. He didn't even have time to, because there was a soft movement behind him.

Attention shifted, Steve looked over his shoulder. "Danny?" he asked.

Malcolm tensed, lifting his gun ever so slightly as if preparing for a threat.

Steve ignored him and focused his attention on Danny.

Danny groaned, his head bobbing a little.

"Danny, you awake?"

Danny moaned, louder this time, and he lifted his head. Even from his obscured position, Steve could tell the other man winced at the movement.

"Danny, are you alright?" he tried again, louder and more persistent.

"I'd be a whole let better if you stopped _yelling in my ear_," Danny said petulantly.

Steve smiled, this time in genuine relief. "Well, if you'd stop napping on the job, I wouldn't have to," he said.

Danny shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "Napping," he repeated wryly. "Only you would called getting bludgeoned multiple times _napping_."

Steve shrugged. "I call it like I see it," he replied airily. Then he hesitated. "How are you feeling? Really."

"Really?" Danny asked. "You mean besides the throbbing headache that you made worse by yelling in my ear?"

Steve's mouth tweaked into a smile. "Yeah, besides that."

"Oh, besides that," Danny said. "Besides that, I'm just _awesome_, thanks so much for asking."

"No double vision? Nausea?"

Danny seemed to balk a little at that. "Who are you now, my doctor?"

"No, I'm your partner, and I just need to know if you're concussed."

"I just got bashed in the head about fifteen times," Danny snapped. "Of course I'm a little concussed, but I don't think my head is going to explode or fall off any time soon, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not exactly what I'm asking."

"Well that's not exactly what I mean!"

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Danny went rigid and Steve heard him suck in a breath and hold it. When he spoke again, his voice was measured and low. "I feel as well as can be expected, given the circumstances."

Steve pursed his lips. It wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but it was pretty clear that it was the only one he was going to get for now. He glanced at Malcolm, who was eyeing them warily, before looking over his shoulder at Danny again. "Well then, under the circumstances, I guess that's pretty good."

"Fantastic," Danny said, his voice taut with pain. He shifted a little, turning to squint at Steve. "So anything exciting happen while I was unconscious?"

Steve subtly worked in his cuffs again, ignoring the feeling of the metal cutting into the soft skin of his wrists. "Malcolm and I were just having a little chat," Steve said. He offered something of a smile at the kid. "Weren't we, Malcolm?"

The kid grimaced.

Steve felt Danny cock his head. "I see he's been charmed by your winning personality," he said.

"What can I say?" Steve said with a shrug. "I naturally have that effect on people."

"Yeah, you make us all naturally want to run screaming in the opposite direction," Danny said. Then he turned his attention to Malcolm. "Don't worry, it's normal. I punched him in the face after knowing him for a day and I didn't even have anything I wanted from him."

Malcolm did not look overly reassured.

He looked even less so when the office door opened with a bang. Steve looked over and saw Blaine taking large strides as he crossed the warehouse floor. He paused first by Malcolm, giving the kid an appraising look, before lifting his chin toward Steve and Danny. "Did you have a nice rest, gentlemen?" he asked.

"Actually, my neck's a little stiff," Danny snarked. "It's a little hard to tell if it's because of the blunt force trauma or the lack of pillows, but I still think you should reconsider your accommodations for future kidnappings."

Blaine gave him a patiently bemused smile. "Noted," he said. Then his eyes shifted to Steve. "Did you get some thinking done? Perhaps some memories got triggered?"

Steve frowned a little, feigning thought. "As a matter of fact, I did remember something," he said. "I think I left the light on at the office. Seems pretty wasteful in these days of environmental awareness." He glanced over his shoulder to Danny. "You think they'll turn it off for me?"

Danny didn't even get a chance to mount a sarcastic reply.

Blaine's gaze narrowed and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "Are you under the impression that this is somehow a game to me, McGarrett?"

Steve lifted his chin. "You're the one making the rules here, Blaine," he said coolly.

Blaine put his hands on his hips, tapping one finger on the holster at his waist. "Just one rule," he said. "Tell me what I want to know."

Danny made a noise behind him. "You shouldn't bother with any rules," he recommended. "Steve has a tendency to ignore them."

"Not when it counts," Blaine countered easily. He took a step forward, with a hint of menace in his posture. "There is a hard way and an easy way to do this."

Danny chuckled a little. "Do they teach that kind of rhetoric at Navy school or something? Because, besides the fact that one of you is a psycho criminal and the other is just psycho, you sound a lot alike."

Blaine's eyes flickered to Danny, but not for long. He was focused on Steve.

Shifting, Steve kept himself as still as possible. "He's right," he said. "Easy way or hard way, this still ends the same."

Blaine shook his head. "I don't want this to just be about revenge," he said. "There's no shame in confessing under duress. You know that. I know that. All I want is a name. The person who gave you your information. You can tell me what I need to know, and no one in the governor's office is going to think less of you."

Steve didn't try to hide his disgust. "This isn't a POW camp. I wouldn't break there, and I'm not breaking here. Hard way, easy way. The end is the same."

Blaine paused, and cocked his head. "Are you sure about that?"

Steve kept his gaze firm. "Pretty damn."

Blaine looked thoughtful, then his eyes went to Danny again. "So seeing your partner suffer," he said slowly and he took a step in Danny's direction. "It doesn't mean anything to you."

Steve tensed, but tried not to let it show.

At his back, Danny's nerves were obvious and he shook his head. "If Steve's not going to talk for fear of his own death, then you better believe he won't talk for mine," he said quickly, but there was a small waver in his voice. Whether from uncertainty that it was true or just apprehension at what was coming, Steve wasn't sure.

Blaine stepped closer to Steve, eyeing him again with purpose. "Just tell me the name," he said. "You know all the ways I have to hurt people, and I haven't even gotten started yet."

Steve swallowed. "I won't tell you," he insisted.

Blaine lashed out with a fist, this time aiming low and Steve didn't to see it land to hear the muted thud as it connected with Danny's torso. His partner jarred with a strangled gasp.

Steve clenched his teeth but refused to let expression show on his face.

Blaine straightened and met Steve's gaze expectantly. "Let's start simpler, then," Blaine suggested with an air of farcical diplomacy. "Was the person military or civilian?"

Steve pressed his lips together, his mind ticking through the memories. Blaine made it sound like a simple question, but Steve knew that much information would give too much away. It was likely that Blaine had a shortlist of possible leaks, and Steve didn't have any desire to put anyone else in harm's way. Besides, he still knew that giving up the name wouldn't save Danny's life. If it saved him any pain, it would only be because it got him killed that much sooner.

He had to stall. Figure a way out. Hope to Malcolm continued to break. Count on Chin and Kono to put the pieces together.

More than that, he had to hope that Blaine wanted the intel bad enough that he was willing to drag it out.

And most of all, he was banking a lot on the fact that Danny would come out alive. Not unscathed at this point, but still breathing.

Whether or not he forgave Steve, he'd deal with later. Times of combat required him to play by different rules. If ever there was a time to break with the convention of the world, it was now.

For Danny's life. Steve could handle taking Grace to see her father in a hospital, but he wasn't quite ready to take her to a funeral.

He swallowed, decision made, and shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It's done now, Blaine. All of it. Even if you get the name, there's no way you're going to elude authorities long enough to get what you're looking for. And if you find the money, what makes you think you'll have any chance of using it without getting caught?"

Blaine looked intrigued by that. The expression of interest was laced with morbid glee as he lifted his fist again, burying it with real force into Danny's midsection yet again.

Danny oofed louder this time, and in the wheezing that followed, Steve could literally hear his pain, felt it throb in his own gut as if the punch had hit him instead.

It took everything he had to steel himself and keep his eyes fixed on Blaine. "You're in a corner," Steve continued. "You're in a corner and if you think any of this will change that, then you're stupider than I thought you were."

Blaine's expression twisted, a gleam of rage sparking in his eye. "I'm stupid?" he asked. Then he laughed a little. "You think I'm stupid?"

The retraction caught in Steve's throat as Blaine lashed out with new fury. This time the blows came in a rapid volley, punches to the midsection and face, one right after another with a force that sent them reeling, chairs skittering haphazardly over the warehouse floor. They didn't fall over, but they came close, and Steve had to work to keep himself upright. The cuffs bit into Steve's wrist with fresh cuts.

As Danny's body slammed backward, his head whipping hard against Steve's own, he didn't know how much more he could endure. He didn't know how much more Danny's body could take, how much more Steve could let him take. He had his ideals and he knew his strategy, but those were cold comforts in the face of hearing his partner being beaten.

Because he didn't know for sure. Blaine might kill Danny now and all Steve's posturing might be for nothing. Blaine might kill Danny later and all this in between was just a waste of time. He was pinning his partner's life on this and it made sense in theory, but having it played out like this-

Was more than Steve could take.

Heart lurching and stomach tight, Steve braced himself against the onslaught and struggled to look at his partner and Blaine. He caught a glimpse of Malcolm in the background, white as a sheet, and the ghost of movement at the edges of his vision as Blaine moved with decisive blows.

"Blaine!" he yelled

Blaine didn't seem to hear him, his eyes intent. He launched another strike to Danny's stomach.

"Damn it, Blaine," Steve hissed, jerking wildly and using his legs to get some leverage. He pulled hard at the chair clattering it away and Blaine's next blow was only a glancing one.

Wildly, Blaine pulled up, turning his gaze to Steve with an intensity that made Steve want to flinch. But he didn't allow himself that kind of weakness. He couldn't let Blaine see it, either. This was part of the negotiation, and if Steve gave here, then everything Danny was enduring would be for nothing.

Instead, Steve forced himself to stick with the plan. Determined, he kept his chin up, his eyes steady. "You hurt him anymore, and you're getting nothing from me," Steve said, voice low and deadly. Blaine had his terms; Steve had his own. It was going to be a tug of war to see who gave in first.

The malice turned to humor. "So does that mean you're ready to talk?" he surmised.

Steve's bluster faded and he shifted, trying not to let it show, but knowing it was too late. At his back, Danny was moving slightly, his chest heaving and head rolling loosely on his neck. For once, Steve's partner was quiet, save for the grating breaths he was still sucking in desperately.

Blaine smirked knowingly. "That's what I thought," he said. He stood up a little, straightening his shirt. He brushed his hands on his pants before patting his hair. With a quick crack of his neck, he rolled his shoulders. "You have your information as leverage to decide which way this goes. For my end, while your own life means little to you, I have Detective Williams here. The only way to spare him anything is to tell me what I want to know."

It was true, and they both knew it. There was no need to try to deny the facts. This was why Steve had refused to say anything.

But he could feel Danny still trying to curl up at his back. The ragged pants of his partner's labored breathing were a difficult reminder that there was more than principle involved with this. It was more than just strategy. It was Danny's life.

Steve swallowed hard and he kept his face impassive. If they were going to lay out terms, then they had to lay out the terms, and there was only one thing Blaine could tell him that would make any difference to him at all. "If I tell you, will you let him go?" he asked plainly. It was the one question that mattered, and if he believed that the answer might be affirmative, it was the only thing that would change his tactics.

Blaine's face registered something of surprise, before turning into grim humor. "If you have to ask," he said with a smirk. "Then maybe you're the stupid one."

The words were cold, and settled like blocks of ice in Steve's consciousness.

With that, he reared back, delivering another hard punch deep into Danny's gut. Danny's gasp of pain was breathless and harsh, his entire body taut as he strained against the cuffs. Steve could feel fresh blood trickle from the cuffs.

But there was nothing Steve could do about it. There was nothing Steve could do about any of it. It was everything he could do just to stay upright, because the force of the blow made them clatter backward, almost tipping them and Steve had to flail his legs to regain any kind of equilibrium.

Blaine was upright again, tucking in the tail of his shirt for good measure. "Consider your lack of options, please," he said. He moved away, nodding to Malcolm as he examined a smear of blood on his shirt. He glanced back, meeting Steve's eyes. "I'm not in this for blood. Just money. In the end, my priorities will be right."

Steve watched him go for a second, and watched all his own best laid plans go with him. Because Danny was still wheezing at his back, Malcolm still had the gun, Blaine still had his endgame, and Steve still had nothing but a name and a desperate hope that he could stall it all long enough to avoid the inevitable.

Because it was inevitable. If Blaine had his way, the ending of this story was written the second Steve took this case. Blaine wasn't a murderer, that much was true, but he was in it for the money. Blaine wasn't about to kill Danny for sheer spite, but to get what he wanted, Blaine would do what was necessary. And, no matter what Blaine said, Steve wouldn't be just giving him a name. He would be giving him an exit strategy and another loose end to easily tie up.

Blaine had his priorities. And he wasn't in it for blood, but he was in it for money. He didn't just want the money - no one just wanted the money. Blaine wanted to spend the money, and if he had any hesitations about killing Danny and Steve, it would be easily forgotten with the wealth.

Steve never operated under the idea that failure was an acceptable option. But over time, he'd been forced to learn the hard way, that sometimes it was a decision made without him entirely. He could still feel the pit in his stomach when the phone rang in the prison transport. He could still feel the desperate rush of adrenaline when the blasts started going off.

And he could still hear his voice begging for Hesse's brother to put the gun down. The cold certainty in his stomach when Hesse's brother was dead.

He hadn't told Hesse what happened. He didn't have to.

None of it had been Steve's fault.

And his father had died anyway.

Steve took an unsteady breath, fighting the impending emotions. He turned his head, staring hard at the office where Blaine was talking to Malcolm.

This wasn't out of his hands yet. Not yet.

Looking over his shoulder at his partner's still-hunched form, he shimmied in his bonds, trying to get a better look.

He could save Danny.

He had to.

Sighing, he dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. No matter what, he _had _to.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I haven't gotten to all the reviews for the last chapter - but I hope to do that soon :) Still, I wanted to stick to my posting schedule, so here it is :) Thanks!

HOUR FIVE

By the time Danny could breathe again, Blaine had already left the room.

It wasn't until he was upright and seeing straight that he realized that he'd taken the kid with him this time.

At least this way when he cried, there would be no witnesses.

And no, he wasn't counting Steve.

Steve didn't count for anything. Ever.

Getting shot in Steve's endless, no-holds-barred pursuit of justice had been bad enough, but a sucker punch to the gut?

It felt like he'd been disemboweled with a dull blade and left open for the freakin' buzzards to pick dry.

Worse yet, he couldn't even double over to alleviate the worst of it. The best he could manage was a feeble curl, which did nothing but aggravate the throbbing of his head and increase the pounding of his blood in his ears.

The pain abated as his ability to breathe increased, and he found himself open mouthed and wide eyed as he worked to regain anything resembling composure.

At his back, he could feel Steve shifting restlessly. It really did figure that Blaine would take the potshot at Danny's expense while Steve got to sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

At this point, Danny resented just about everything in this situation. From Malcolm and his ridiculously big gun, to Blaine and his cordial interrogation crap, to Steve's incessant attempts to escape by making Danny's wrists bleed, to the wind that had just be knocked out of him.

Danny wheezed again, scrunching his nose a little. The small movement made his swollen eye ache with new vigor. "You know," he said with a gasp, which made his bruised ribs protest. "I get why you want to piss him off-" He paused to breathe harshly, wincing as he tried to sit up a little straighter. "But _come on_."

"Gut punch this time?" Steve asked, and though he had the decency to at least sound vaguely apologetic, Danny did not appreciate his cavalier attitude.

"Like that's a lot better," Danny said, his voice thin. He managed to get a bit more upright, wincing through the soreness in his midsection. "As if it's not uncomfortable enough to sit here chained up, now the muscles in my abdomen are bruised."

"It was just a show of force," Steve commented, pulling the bonds again.

This time, Danny managed to sit all the way up, the searing pain be damned. The room seemed a little off kilter to him, but he could only figure that the fact that one of his eyes was almost swollen shut was probably not helping matter any. Persistent on his goal, he looked over his shoulder, glaring as best he could as his partner. "Just a show of force?" he asked. "He punched me. I don't care if it's a show of force, it hurt!"

"I think that's the point," Steve said.

"No, the point is that you're my partner and, the last time I checked, we were still supposed to be concerned for each other's well being."

"I'm concerned," Steve said.

"Oh, really?" Danny asked, mustering up his strength to give Steve a real piece of his mind. There were some things that simply mattered more than pain, and explaining to Steve why his logic was fundamentally flawed ranked right up there with breathing and getting the hell out of there. "So that's why your only comment about my latest injury in this escapade is _it was just a show of force_?"

Steve had the audacity to sound truly perplexed. "Well, what do you want me to say?"

Danny's mouth opened wide and he tried to flail his hands ineffectually against the handcuffs. It was a toss up whether or not his limited movement was more annoying than the aching in his ribs and the throbbing in his face. "How about _I'm sorry_?"

"I didn't hit you," Steve said, matter of fact.

"No, but your smart ass comments motivated him to do it," Danny pointed out. "Not to mention the fact that this is your lead on your case with your old friend-"

"I told you he's not my friend."

Danny had the strong urge to strangle Steve, which meant that for once in this, it was good that they were handcuffed, because Danny doubted that killing his partner was really worth going to jail.

Still. Danny wasn't sold on that one. "I don't care if he's your friend!" Danny exploded. "I've got a headache, my stomach hurts, my wrists are bleeding, and all I'm asking for right now is an _apology_."

Steve shifted again, and a short moment passed. "I'm sorry," he said.

All things considered, it was a bit anticlimactic. Danny adjusted primly. "See, was that so hard?" he asked.

Steve did not seem overly eager to respond. "Are you good now?"

Danny shrugged stiffly. "My head hurts and I still can't catch my breath."

"Maybe if you'd stop talking so much-"

"Maybe if you'd _shut up_-"

"Okay, okay," Steve said, and Danny could hear the surrender in his voice.

Mollified, Danny turned his attention back to breathing, which really did still hurt but was significantly better. As he gathered himself, he became aware again that his problems extended beyond his partner's lack of common sense. Looking over at the office, he could see Blaine and Malcolm.

Blaine was standing, shoulders straight and one hand out, finger jabbing repeatedly at the kid. The kid, for his part, was looking at the ground, nodding.

"Any idea what they're talking about?" Danny ventured.

Steve paused to look at the office as well. "I get the feeling that Blaine's calling all the shots."

"Malcolm had no involvement with the prior case?" Danny asked, his cop-mind coming online without even hesitating.

"Not even as a distant connection," Steve said. "The first time I ever heard of him was as the buyer of the warehouse."

Danny frowned. "He's the guy who bought this place?" he asked, his mind searching for the details of the case. "Didn't he way overpay?"

Steve nodded. "By a whole lot," he confirmed.

Danny's eyes narrowed, taking in Malcolm's hunched frame. "By the looks of it, buying it probably wasn't his idea," he said.

"Probably not," Steve agreed. "So the question is why did he do it?"

"Better yet, who backed him to do it?" Danny said. "I mean, kid like that - he probably doesn't have that kind of start up capital to go buying warehouses from convicted felons."

"Hard to say," Steve said. "But I think the good news is that we can work on him."

"Since he seems so friendly with his large gun," Danny pointed out. Because it was clear that the kid was the weak link of whatever partnership Blaine had established, but it was also clear that Blaine was keenly aware of that fact. Moreover, given the talk-down the kid was getting in the office, Blaine seemed pretty intent on keeping Malcolm on a short leash.

"It's a place to start," Steve countered.

Danny's attention shifted, and he looked back over his shoulder at his partner. "Maybe a better place to start would be how to tell them something to prevent us from getting our faces smashed in."

"It's not going to get that bad," Steve said simply, his fingers working in the cuffs yet again.

Danny rolled his eyes. "What, you want to have a broken nose?" he asked. "Oh, wait, that's right. They're not punching you. They're punching me."

"They punched me, too," Steve said, a little defensively.

Danny had the urge to throw his arms out. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Steve's response was infuriatingly simplistic. "Maybe."

Maybe. Of course maybe. Why not maybe. Danny clenched his jaw and shook his head. "All I'm saying is that you have to tell them something."

At that, Steve seemed to get serious, taking a careful breath. "What if I don't know anything?"

"I don't even buy that and I'm the one person here who's on your side."

He could _sense_ the displeasure on Steve's face.

"I don't have anything I can tell them," Steve said, and he sounded as irked as Danny had figured.

"I'm not asking you to give anyone up," Danny said. "But give them something. A clue or a hint. It can even be off base as long as it sends them looking. We need to buy time here. Give ourselves the chance to breathe without getting socked in the stomach."

"I thought you were worried about your face."

"Both," Danny replied in frustration. "It's an either/or. I don't really like getting punched, period."

"So what is it you want me to do exactly?"

"Tell them something!" Danny said. Then he remembered to drop his voice, turning his head the other direction, away from the office. "Give them a little bit, and maybe they'll give us a little bit back."

"I don't negotiate with criminals," Steve said tersely.

Danny rolled his eyes because it was only natural for Steve to see things that way. "Of course not. You just get kidnapped by them and the beaten to a pulp."

"It's not that bad," Steve insisted.

"Even if it's not that bad, it's certainly not good," Danny countered.

"We can't give them what they want," Steve said, even more adamantly.

Danny sighed, long suffering and he let his head drop back, looking out of the ceiling with his good eye. "We also can't not give them what they want," he said.

For a moment, Steve was silent. "We tell them, they'll kill us," he said quietly.

Looking forward again, Danny swallowed hard. "We don't tell them, they'll kill us," he pointed out.

"So we need to drag it out," Steve concluded.

"Which means not pissing them off," Danny agreed. "That's what I'm saying. A little diplomacy will go a long way."

Steve was quiet for another moment.

"You need to tell me the name," Danny said quietly.

Steve shook his head. "No. No way."

"I can't have your back unless I have all the information," Danny said. "I mean, if Blaine goes after you, I need some kind of leverage. We've got to be equal in this, or one of us is going to get killed, and I don't know about you, but I had dinner plans tonight that I really wanted to keep."

"Hot date?" There was amusement in Steve's voice.

"Not quite," Danny shot back. "I've got Gracie for the night, so I swear to you, if I don't get out of here in time to pick her up from school, I'm holding you responsible."

Steve's fingers worked in the cuffs again. "I'll do the best I can," he said, his tone solemn now.

"I know," Danny said. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "But this isn't all on you. I mean, yes, this is entirely your fault, but we can get out of this together. You need to tell me what you know, and then we need to figure out how much we can tell him without giving him everything all at once."

Steve was quiet, and Danny could almost see the tight line between his eyebrows.

"You know I'm right," Danny added.

Steve still didn't answer.

Danny wet his lips, sighing dramatically. "What?"

"What?" Steve countered.

"What are you thinking about?" he said.

"I'm not sure you want to know."

Danny snorted. "I'm sure I don't, but since we've both handcuffed here, it's not like I've got anything better to do."

"It'll make you mad," Steve said.

Danny's exasperation ratcheted up another notch. Of course Steve would pick now to be worried about that. "I can only see out of one eye," he said icily. "I don't think my anger is really a relevant issue anymore."

"You always overreact when you're mad."

Danny's jaw dropped and he scoffed. "I overreact?" he asked. "I overreact? When do I overreact?"

Steve shrugged. "What about now?"

"Oh, you think this is overreacting?" Danny asked pointedly. "See, I don't think a little incredulity is out of the realm of possibility at all right now, not when I've been knocked over the head, handcuffed, and then _beaten_. All things considered, I think I'm doing remarkably well."

"Which is why I don't want to piss you off!" Steve said.

Danny had the strong urge to hit something. Or someone. Repeatedly and hard.

Unfortunately, the handcuffs made that inconvenient.

Instead, he ground his teeth. "You think you're going to piss me off?" he asked. "Well, you're pissing me off right now by not telling me because I think I'll be pissed off!"

"You really need to work on your clarity when you're emotional," Steve said, a little thoughtful.

This time, Danny jerked in his bonds, skidding them back an inch on the floor for effect. "Just tell me what you're thinking!"

"Okay!" Steve said in obvious surrender.

He paused and Danny forced himself to be patient.

Steve took a decisive breath. "I'm not going to tell you what I know."

Danny's first instinct was to roll his eyes and start in on a tirade about Steve's total lack of clarity on this issue.

However, a good tirade felt inadequate without full use of his hands. Moreover, he didn't want to prove Steve's point.

Instead, Danny worked his jaw, nodding stiffly. "And may I ask why the hell not?" he questioned evenly, trying to keep the malice in his voice to a minimum.

Steve collected another breath. "You're only valuable as leverage if you don't know anything," he said. "Blaine doesn't want to kill you because you're the only thing keeping me in line."

"He may not want to kill me, but he's more than happy roughing me up," Danny pointed out.

"Better a broken nose than a body bag," Steve said.

Danny glowered. "It's not your nose," he said. Then he shook his head. "And even if it protects me for a little bit, it's not going to do anything for you."

"If we both know, one of us is expendable," Steve insisted.

"We're both expendable now," Danny argued. "Blaine hasn't kept any secrets. He hasn't exactly been discreet here. He knows he's on a timeline and if he doesn't get what he wants from us, he'll kill us both, no questions asked."

"Which is why we have to push the timeline," Steve said.

"Yeah, by telling him a little of what he wants to know."

"It won't work," Steve said, shaking his head. "I know Blaine. I know how he operates. He's got this set up just right. One phone call, and he's going to know if we're telling the truth or not, and if he catches us in a lie - even a small one - he's going to have to up the ante. And last I checked, you were against enduring more physical pain."

"I am against physical pain," Danny agreed. "But you can finesse it. Tell him a hint."

"It's a name or nothing," Steve said decidedly. "Blaine's not going to play twenty questions. I _trained _with him. I _know _him."

"Oh, which is why you saw this ambush coming so well?" Danny asked, and he knew it was a low blow, but he needed Steve to see reason. Even just a little bit of it. They were in over their heads here - and Danny was man enough to admit it. They were walking a dangerous line, and if they both wanted to get out of there alive, they needed to pool their assets and start working this thing from all angles.

"I didn't know what he wanted then," Steve said after a moment.

"Well, and now that we do know, how does that change things?" Danny pressed.

Steve sighed. "I know he wants this information more than he lets on," Steve said. He nodded, and seemed to resolve himself. "We play this out when he's questioning us."

Danny made a face. "And that's your final answer?"

"Final answer," Steve confirmed.

Danny pressed his lips together. "And I don't get a say?"

"I let you have plenty of say," Steve said. "I just didn't agree with you."

This time, Danny did roll his eyes. "Great. Awesome. You know, _partnership_ means _equals_. We're supposed to have an equal say."

"Who runs this task force?" Steve asked.

"But I'm your partner," Danny said, his voice cutting with frustration. "There has to be give and take in this or it doesn't work."

"There's plenty of give and take," Steve said.

"Mostly I'm giving, giving, giving, and you seem to keep taking," Danny argued.

"You want more to do?" Steve asked, and he almost sounded genuine.

Danny was desperate enough. "Yes!" he said. "Yes, I want something to do other than to sit here and use my face as a punching bag!"

"Okay," Steve said readily.

Danny felt himself cringe. He'd just walked into something. Another ambush. Only this time, with Steve the one throwing it, it could end up far worse than a bump on the head and a pair of handcuffs.

"Let's see how far we can get," Steve concluded.

Danny waited for more, because surely, there had to be more. "How far we can get?" he asked, and then resigned himself to pointing out the obvious. "We're handcuffed to a _chair_."

"But our legs are free," Steve pointed out, as if that somehow made their predicament less daunting.

However, Danny considered that - briefly, because that was what partners did - and then promptly shook his head. "And have you forgotten that the guys with guns can still _see _us?" he asked, giving the office window a thorough look for good measure.

"No, which is why we need to be discreet."

As if Steve McGarrett knew a lot about how to _not_ attract attention to himself. "Right, discreet," Danny said, trying not to sound _too_ sarcastic. It was hard to help it, though, all things considered. "We need to be discreet while we flop around while handcuffed to chairs making our grand escape."

To his partner's credit, Steve didn't seem to mind. "We don't need to escape like this," he said.

"Well, that's good, because I'm pretty sure if they gave chase, they'd win."

Maybe it was less a question of minding and more a question of Steve not being able to focus on anything else. Chin was right about Steve - his mind was one tracked, all the way, regardless of how precarious their health and overall well-being may be.

"We just need to get far enough to see if we can find something to pick the lock," Steve continued.

Danny nodded, as if he should have known. Because clearly, Steve figured he should know, because Steve existed on an entirely different plane of reality. "Right, just to get far enough to find something to pick the lock," he repeated sarcastically. "And what did you have in mind exactly?"

Steve pulled a little at the cuffs. "Well, a paperclip would be nice."

"Sadly, I'm fresh out," Danny said in fake lament.

Steve, in typical Steve fashion, did not seem bothered by Danny's lack of effort. "Anything small enough and sturdy enough," he countered. "A bobby pin, maybe."

Danny shook his head. "I don't think Blaine or Malcolm seem much like the type to care about their hair," he snarked, letting his eyes scan the surrounding area. "And unless those boxes have beauty supplies, I'm not sure you're going to find what you're looking for."

And the boxes were too far away, anyway, but Danny didn't bother to say it. If Steve had it in his mind, Danny knew he wouldn't have much choice in the matter. But the boxes didn't look promising. If they really wanted to be successful, they needed something closer, something more practical, something...

Danny's eyes settled on a table, pushed up against the wall. Malcolm's bottle of water was there, along with an empty can of soda. There was a small notepad and a pen.

Not just any pen, but a nice one.

"What about a pen?" he asked.

Steve paused what he was doing, looking over his shoulder. "A pen?"

"Yes," Danny said emphatically. He nodded toward the table. "A metal pen. Clicky, from the looks of it. Usually meant for writing, but if you're thinking all MacGyver-like, you might have some use for it."

Steve was straining to see. "Do you think it'd come apart?"

"I think it's a better shot than finding a bobby pin in this place," Danny replied.

"Good enough for me," Steve said.

"Well, yeah, maybe it's good enough, but we still have to get over there," Danny reminded him, glancing with restrained uncertainty at the office. Blaine was looking at them, before he turned his attention back to Malcolm.

Steve, frustratingly, did not seem concerned. "We just need to coordinate our movements," he said. "It shouldn't be so bad."

Danny snorted. "Yeah, right, it shouldn't be so bad," he muttered. Since everything else that had happened today had gone so well. "But how are we going to avoid getting seen?"

"We move in small bursts. A step at a time," Steve explained, almost too patiently.

Danny frowned. "I still think they're going to see us."

"They're going to see us struggle, which is what we've been doing all morning. We've already moved around several inches in any direction since we first woke up here."

Danny looked at the ground, brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"

"How do I know what?"

"That we've moved several inches?" Because it really did look all the same to Danny.

Steve shrugged. "Simple observational skills," he reported. "They knocked us back nearly half a foot when Blaine punched you the first time you passed out."

Danny scowled at the memory. "So that's how come I don't remember," he said. "I was too busy being the method of movement to fully appreciate how much mobility we had."

Steve sighed. "Are you done now?"

Looking over his shoulder, Danny glared. "Done with what?"

"Complaining," Steve said.

Danny's mouth opened. "Complaining?" He drew an indignant breath. "I'm not complaining!"

"Fine, are you done talking?"

"Are you done being an insensitive asshole?"

This time, it was Steve's turn to frown. "I'm just trying to get us out of here."

Danny bristled, looking forward again. "Yeah, since insulting me is really the way to go about it."

"I'm not insulting you."

"Do we have to go over how this is all your fault again?" Danny shot back.

Steve sighed, breathing deeply for a moment. "Fine," he said. "I'm sorry."

Danny sniffled a little, only marginally mollified. "I wasn't complaining."

"I said I'm sorry," Steve snapped.

"I'm just saying," Danny said with a stiff shrug.

"You're always just saying," Steve muttered.

Danny turned to look at his partner with a pointed glare as best he could.

"Okay, okay," Steve said in apologetic surrender. "Do you think maybe you can help me try to get over to the table or are your feelings too hurt?"

The barb was not one Danny appreciated, but he was not quite that petty.

At least not when he was handcuffed and being held hostage. When they got out, then he'd be sure to read Steve the riot act. And he would be sure to take the time to be excessively petty, just because his face was swollen and his eye hurt and his fingers were going numb.

The fact that the only sensation he could consistently count on from his fingers was touching Steve's ass really didn't help matters.

"We can do it," Danny snapped. "But I still think it's a stupid idea. They're going to see us and come out and beat the crap out of us for it.'

Steve shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded with noncommittal flare. "On the count of three, I want to push off and move an inch toward the table."

Scowling, Danny obeyed, with a wary eye to the office. Malcolm had his head down and Blaine was pacing, clearly on the phone once more.

"One, two...," Steve began.

Danny tensed, working to get his footing.

"Three," Steve concluded, and together they lifted the chair, scooting it unceremoniously across the cement floor.

"Maybe?" Danny challenged belatedly, because just because he was willing to follow Steve's idiotic plans didn't mean he thought they were any less idiotic. "You're betting an awful lot on that maybe."

Steve shook his head. "Blaine has enough on his plate. He's so busy making a show of watching us that he's not really watching us that well at all," he explained. "You ready?"

Danny glanced at the office again. Blaine was making a sweeping gesture with one hand. He cast a furtive glance at his captives, but continued talking.

Nodding brusquely, Danny worked his feet on the ground, levering them up. With Steve's help, they clattered another inch or so.

"The problem with bluffs is that sometimes people really have the cards to back them," Danny commented ruefully.

"Well, then it's not really a bluff now, is it?" Steve countered.

Danny sucked in a breath as they lifted themselves again, maneuvering again with great effort. "No, it's just a smart bet," Danny said. "But the other players can never be sure until all the cards are on the table."

Steve grunted as they lifted again, and the work had Danny's legs burning with exertion. He looked again over at the office, stilling as Malcolm eyed them curiously.

Steve paused as well. "That's a chance I'm willing to take," he said heavily.

Danny smiled miserably. "Normally, I'd say no big deal," he said. "But they've got guns. Big guns and lots of them and I would say it's a safe bet that they know how to use them. If we call their bluff and find out they're not playing around, we're going to end up with a couple of bullet holes for our trouble."

Malcolm's attention shifted briefly, back to Blaine, who was talking to him again. As Malcolm nodded intently, Danny prepared himself for another lift, this time taking them a good two inches across the ground before they came to a halt, both of them panting.

Steve shook his head, clearly adamant. "If Blaine wanted to kill us, he'd have killed us," he said simply. "Whether or not we try to escape isn't going to make much difference."

Danny bared down and they lifted again, clattering noisily across the floor.

When they came to a stop, Danny felt his frustrations rise. "You think that Blaine doesn't intend to kill us?"

Steve strained, and Danny joined him, and they effectively advanced themselves another inch or two. "No, I think he's going to kill us," Steve replied plaintively. "Just not until he has what he wants. We can try to escape, and that's not going to lessen or increase our chances of survival."

Only Steve could talk about their probability of being murdered as though it wasn't a big deal. Just another day in the office for Hawaii Five-0.

Danny frowned and pushed to his feet again, letting his aggravation be channeled into the futile efforts to move the chair not-so-discreetly across the floor. When they came to a stop again, he sucked in a hasty breath and set his scowl deeper. "You really do have issues, you know that?"

Steve had the audacity to laugh. "You repeat yourself a lot, did you know that?"

Danny glowered, but joined Steve in another effort to move the chair. "That's your comeback? That I repeat myself?"

They came to a stop. Steve shrugged. "You do."

Danny rolled his eyes, his entire body trying to flail with the effort. "Have you ever considered that maybe - just maybe - I have to keep saying the same things because you never listen?"

Steve lifted again, and they scooted farther before coming to a stop. "No, I'm pretty sure that's not it," he said.

Danny gaped. "Then what on earth could it possibly be?"

Steve grunted, and they moved again. "Maybe just that you have issues."

Danny could hear the humor in Steve's voice, and while he knew that he should probably let it go, he was not feeling inclined to do so. After all, they were handcuffed together. Danny's eye was swollen. His head hurt. And they were moving pointlessly across the floor to get a pen that may or may not work to pick the lock, which they would never be able to do since they were being continually guarded by two idiots with guns who could see them plainly.

And Steve thought _Danny_ had issues.

Danny didn't have issues. He had an issue. Just one.

Steve McGarrett, the partner from hell.

The literal bane of his mundane existence. Not only was Steve completely set on getting him killed and maimed - not necessarily in that order, even - but he was also apparently intent on driving Danny slowly, but very surely, insane.

The sheer ridiculousness of it all left Danny speechless.

Almost.

As it was, he found himself spluttering. "I have issues? I have issues?" he repeated, his voice growing uncontrollably. "You drag me all over this damn island, get me shot, knocked out, punched, and handcuffed, and I have issues?"

"You're the one freaking out here," Steve said with a shrug.

"You know, you're lucky we're handcuffed," Danny said, shaking his head.

Steve turned to look at him. "Why's that?"

Danny's jaw worked. "Because if my hands weren't tied down, I would punch that smug grin off your face."

"I'm not grinning."

"But you are smug," Danny countered.

There was a pause. Danny lifted his chin in defiant victory.

"You know," Steve said, after a moment. "We've made good progress."

"At defining your issues?"

"No, at getting across the floor."

At that, Danny remembered why they were working so hard in the first place. Steve was wrong about many things, but he was right about this much: they had gotten significantly farther than Danny would have suspected. "We may just have a chance at this after all," Danny said, and he didn't bother to hide the surprise in his voice.

Steve went a little rigid at his back. "Maybe not," he said, voice hushed.

Danny gave him a perturbed look. "Now you're the Debbie Downer all of a sudden? What happened to the Mission Impossible mentality you had going on back there?"

"We've got company," Steve whispered.

Danny straightened, eyes going to the office. Malcolm was on his feet again, shifting his gun from hand to hand while Blaine moved swiftly past him and opened the door.

"Wonderful," Danny muttered. "And just in time since the throbbing in my face had dulled to a distant ache."

Steve, however, was either ignoring him or trying to put on some kind of brave or defiant face for their captors.

Danny didn't much see the point. He was handcuffed to a chair and probably sporting an impressive shiner. He was used to not making much of an impression on people on normal days, and he could only imagine that his current bedraggled appearance was even less imposing. He liked to think of himself as a man's man, but ultimately, he was practical. He wasn't going to intimidate Blaine by sneering, and he was fairly certain that any kind of scowling would just make his head hurt more than it already did.

Blaine approached, rubbing his hands together as he did. Malcolm brought up the rear, falling short behind him, gnawing his lip and his gun pointed down but still in his hands. For his part, Blaine was smiling, and his face had the appearance of warmth, but Danny could still see the sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Psycho criminals just all had that way about them. Whether they were born with it or developed it after committing their first major crime, Danny couldn't be sure, but after this many years as a detective, he could see it a mile away, even with one eye swollen shut.

"So," Blaine said, his expression turning wry. "Did our last session knock any sense into you two?"

Danny looked over his shoulder with a banal smile. "Now he's a kidnapper _and_ a comedian," he said. Then he looked back at Blaine. "You should consider taking that act on the road. I'm not sure that stand up pays that well, but since you've got financing under the table, you could just do it for kicks."

Blaine looked vaguely amused. "That's cute," he said. "I'd invite you to my first show-"

Danny nodded knowingly. "It's never much fun to see the act a second time," he agreed.

"Which brings us to the salient question," Blaine continued. He looked at Steve. "Are you ready to tell me your source?"

Steve was rigid at Danny's back, and he didn't need to see Steve to know his expression was a solid _screw you_. "You're not going to get anything from me," he said.

Blaine sighed a little, but he didn't truly look surprised. "I will get something," he said. He shrugged. "A little blood, your partner's life. It's a small trade for one name."

Danny sighed, shaking his head. "You really think the answer will be any different?"

Blaine eyed him, more than a hint of disdain in his eye now. "I understand better than you do where McGarrett comes from," he said. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

It wasn't funny - not really - except that it was. It just _was_. This moron had kidnapped them, beat them up, and said he knew what he was doing.

Of course, the smart thing would be to shut up about it. But Steve was already playing the strong and silent type, so that left Danny to pick up the frank and comedic slack. Especially since it was funny - in that way in which life and death hostage situations could be funny, anyway.

"Really? You know what you're doing? Because if kidnapping two officers recruited by the governor wasn't stupid enough, you're trying to leverage Steve McGarrett for information," Danny said with a knowing dip of his head. "Steve McGarrett. I mean, think about that one, just for a minute. On a scale of one to stupid, that one ranks pretty well near idiotic."

Blaine stared him, anger growing on his face.

Danny shrugged a little, and let the jest stand for what it was. He wasn't in the habit of holding his tongue, not even on a good day when talking to someone he mostly liked. This was not a good day and he certainly didn't like Blaine.

Besides, it was a good comeback. Witty. Smart. Annoying. Perfect for the situation, all things considered. If Steve wanted to play it this way, then Danny could definitely play it this way, and with gusto, too. Danny was nothing if not committed to the job, even if he fundamentally disagreed with the entire process.

But if witty and smart and annoying were good for pissing Blaine off, then they were also good for getting him punched. Probably hard.

Truthfully, if Danny had thought it all through a little more, he might have chosen his words more carefully. Though, at this point, he was already screwed in Steve's genius master plan, so it seemed only right to get his digs in while he could.

Before Blaine popped him once and for all.

Fortunately, despite the fact that Danny was essentially nothing more than a useless smart ass at the moment, Blaine was still keeping his temper precariously in check.

Unfortunately, while Blaine had the restraint not to kill Danny, the detective was keenly aware that getting shot was not the only form of injury he could endure in Steve's manic propensity to get them both into trouble.

For a second, looking at the unabashed rage on Blaine's face, Danny thought he should apologize. This whole taking hostages thing was probably pretty stressful, after all, and needing Steve McGarrett for information was sort of a worst case scenario, so Danny could feel for him there.

But Blaine was also a convicted felon who had knocked him out and handcuffed him.

Besides, there wasn't time to say anything. There wasn't even time to properly brace himself as the punch came in hard and fast, landing neatly across his face.

Danny's head snapped to the side, his vision dimming immediately. Stars exploded behind his eyes and the pain radiated from his cheek and jaw all along his neck and head.

Coughing, he hacked a little, trying to catch his breath and tasting blood in his mouth. He ran his tongue along his mouth, making sure all his teeth were still in place as his head rolled on his neck and he tried to look up again.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As always, I appreciate all readers and reviews. This is starting to build to the climax, but it's not quite there yet :) Thank you!

HOUR SIX

Danny had a knack for being annoying.

Steve honestly figured it was a natural born gift, a mere facet of Danny's personality. It was rarely ill-conceived and even less so malicious, but Danny had a penchant for snarky sarcasm that could test even the most tried and true nerves.

Steve would know. After being the guy's partner this long, he'd come to know him fairly well. Danny's rants were epic, his choice of soapboxes obscure, and his tendency for melodrama expected. Sometimes Steve found it amusing. He took a perverse joy in finding one of Danny's buttons and pushing it just to see his arms flail and hear his voice change pitch. Sometimes it was downright perplexing, and Steve found himself watching Danny, just trying to get some idea of the thought process that had led them to the point of raving diatribes.

And sometimes, inevitably, it was annoying.

Like when Danny asked him the same question fifteen times, just so Steve would finally stop and let him explain his point of view. Or when Danny persisted in defying common sense and insisted on upholding the police code of conduct to which Steve had never sworn an allegiance.

Also, most probably, when his only job was to shut up and bleed and he proceeded to critique every move being made.

Granted, this didn't as much annoy Steve as it did worry him, but he could see how it might be annoying for Blaine.

What he wasn't sure of was whether or not Danny was aware of what he was doing. It was entirely possible, Steve figured, that Danny really didn't have a censor button and was completely incapable of being quiet, even when his life and limb were actually on the line.

Possible, but for some reason, it didn't seem probable. Because if Danny had a propensity to say whatever he was thinking, he had a hardwired leaning toward survival. It frustratingly anchored everything Danny did, and Steve could almost see his partner's mind working at the start of every bust, thinking about the myriad ways in which it could end in disaster.

Because, as Danny reminded him frequently, he had a daughter. Danny would say anything on his mind, but he wouldn't blithely risk his life for the fear of never seeing Grace again.

Which meant that Danny knew what he was doing. He knew that he was pissing Blaine off, and he was keeping it up because it fit with Steve's masterful plan of stalling.

Steve would stall by saying as little as possible. Danny would stall by saying as much as possible.

The counterbalance was clear. They complemented each other in a way that Steve never had foreseen the day he coerced Danny to join him on 5-0. The perfect partnership.

And the perfect way for Danny to get himself killed.

Steve saw the punch coming, but had no way of stopping it. He didn't even have an effective means of warning his partner - because none of it would do any good. They were sitting ducks, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop Blaine if he put his mind to something.

Still, seeing it coming and knowing that Danny had willingly brought it on, didn't make it any easier to endure.

Steve heard the punch land across Danny's face, and felt it as his partner's head rebounded with the impact.

Keeping his gaze steady, Steve forced himself to keep an eye on Blaine. "You think this makes you tough?" he asked. "That somehow I'm supposed to suddenly think you're a brilliant criminal mastermind I shouldn't mess with?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I'm not twirling my mustache or anything," he said. Then he lifted his head with a bemused grin. His fingers were still curled in a loose fist and he lashed out, hitting Danny with another glancing blow to the face. "But I have the upper hand here, and I just haven't figure out how much you'll let your partner take before you acknowledge that and give me what I want."

"I'm not trained to negotiate with criminals," Steve reminded him, both glib and serious.

Blaine shook out his hand for a moment, his breathing deep with the exertion of the punches. Danny was still moving behind Steve, with harsh breaths broken up by intermittent spitting.

"Then don't think of it as a negotiation," Blaine said with an easy shrug.

"I think what Steve means is that he doesn't negotiate, period," Danny offered, his voice strained and clipped but certainly not lacking its usual acetic edge.

"How about saving a life?" Blaine pushed, and he used his foot this time, kicking at Danny's leg purposefully.

This time, Danny yelped, and Steve could only hope that it hadn't been a blow to Danny's less than perfect ACL.

Blaine cocked his head, looking at Steve smugly. "You could save his life by telling me."

It was probably a lie, and they all knew it. Steve shook his head, remaining defiant. "How about you let us go and I'll save yours."

Blaine gave him a disappointed look. "As if you'll let me go," he said.

"No, but I can get leniency," Steve offered.

Blaine chortled, pacing a little. "I'm an escaped convict who was already serving 25 years," he said. He looked unimpressed, and he wasn't afraid to show it. "Somehow I doubt your sincerity."

Steve shrugged coldly. It had been only as true as his assumption that Blaine would never go for it. "And somehow I doubt yours."

Blaine's expression faded from bemusement to anger and he kicked again, harder this time, jarring them back roughly.

Danny cried out again, muttering a small string of curses before he sucked in a harsh breath and seemed to consciously control himself.

"I'm tired of this game, gentlemen," Blaine said, voice heavy with exasperation. His blithe attitude from earlier was wearing thin, and in his demands, Steve could sense a growing desperation.

"Oh, and we're having so much fun," Danny sniped, but the words were barely out of his mouth when Blaine landed another hard punch, this time into Danny's stomach. The detective curled over, pulling against the cuffs, and Steve heard him wheeze painfully.

"Hurting him won't get you what you want," Steve reminded him, not because he thought it would make a difference, and not even as an attempt at posturing, but because it was true.

Blaine smirked and kicked this time, the heel of his foot landing hard on Danny's knee.

This time, Danny cried out uncontrollably, a short, strangled sound, before he stifled it with a grunt.

Steve felt something ebb from his self-control. It wasn't in his nature to second-guess himself any more than it was in his nature to let people under his command suffer in his stead. The utter futility of it wore at him, ratcheting up with each blow Danny sustained.

There was nothing to be done for it, though, and as hard as it was, Steve forced himself to rein his frustration in. There was a time for vengeance. There was a time to fight back. And there was a time to endure, whether he liked it at the moment or not. They had a plan. He had to stick to the plan. Danny was leverage only as long as Steve showed any concern. Indifference was his friend now, even if it was the hardest thing to muster.

Purposefully, Steve held Blaine's eyes. He shrugged. "You know how I'm trained," he said. "You know that I won't break."

"For yourself, no," Blaine agreed. "But for your new _partner_?"

He spoke the word with purposeful disdain, and accentuated his point by landing another kick, this time to Danny's midsection, a gleeful expression twisting his features.

Danny oofed and the impact nearly rocked them to the ground.

No matter how hard Steve worked to keep the rage and concern from his face, he knew Blaine could read it clearly.

Blaine's smile widened. "For him, I think you might just," he said. He followed up the kick with a punch across Danny's jaw, which snapped Steve's partner's head to the side with a painful crack. "You have more than your share of guilt on your shoulders now. With your father's death and all. Do you really want to be responsible for your partner's as well?"

Steve's heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest, and it was all his concentration to keep his eyes trained on Blaine while all his attention was on Danny.

At his back, Danny was sagged forward, but he wasn't still. Blaine wanted Danny awake this time around, and, unfortunately, Blaine was good at walking that line. His partner mumbled a little, something incomprehensible and slurred, and Steve stayed upright while Danny's head rolled back, his shoulders heaving with the effort to breathe.

"How much longer does he have to ignore you for you to believe it?" Danny asked between pants. His head rolled forward again, with a ragged sigh.

Blaine looked at him for a moment, still grinning. "Peril," he announced simply. He lashed out with a foot, catching Danny's knee.

His partner whimpered, and dragged in a wet breath as he stifled a curse.

"Peril," Blaine said again, using a fist this time to hit hard into Danny's ribs. Danny strained against his bonds, trying to curl into himself, and Blaine stood back proudly. "Steve McGarrett may indeed have no physical limits to break, but he has emotional ones. I just have to find them."

To prove his point, he kicked, hitting Danny square in the chest with a force that scooted them across the floor and left Danny speechless.

With that kind of force, Danny was going to be lucky not to have internal damage. Broken ribs were a strong possibility, and with any kind of prolonged beating, that could lead to a punctured lung - or something worse.

Peril. It was effective, but only if Steve let Blaine hold it.

Defiant, he kept his chin high, narrowing his eyes at Blaine. "Peril?" he asked, a little mockingly. "That's your best option? Peril? I thought you fancied yourself a brilliant criminal mastermind."

Blaine's expression flickered. "I caught you, didn't I?"

"Only because you couldn't figure out who screwed you," Steve shot back.

Blaine hit Danny with a punch, to the face this time.

Steve made himself ignore it. "You run an entire operation under the nose of the US Navy. You skim millions for yourself. You even break out of prison. But you still don't know why you lost it all. You can't figure out how you got caught. You're no better than the scumbugs on the street corner trying to sell drugs to kids."

Blaine's smile faded somewhat, turned up grimly on the ends. "A wrong I intend on fixing once you give me a name."

Steve scoffed. "If you were half the criminal you thought you were, you wouldn't need any of this," he said. "Look at this. Throwing punches in a warehouse. It's _pathetic_."

Blaine shook his head, laughing a little. "I know what you're doing," he said. "I know that you're trying to get into my head."

"I don't need to get into your head," Steve said with an air of disgust. "It's obvious, written all over your face. At this point, I wouldn't tell you because I don't think you even deserve to know. Hell, you'd probably still screw it all up even if I did give you the name and get yourself caught, just like before."

Steve was so set on pushing Blaine to the edge, that he almost didn't see the punch coming. As it was, there wasn't much he could do, and he took it hard across the face, knocking his head sideways with his vision going black around the edges. His ears rung and he tasted blood.

Spitting, he shook his head, trying to clear it.

Looking up through blurry vision, he worked to control his breathing and regain his composure, but even as he made the effort, he could tell something had changed.

Malcolm was still in the background, eyes wide and hands on the gun. Steve was still handcuffed to the chair and Danny was still stiff at his back, breathing ragged and pained. And Blaine was still there, too, standing tall in front of him, but it was still different somehow and Steve's mind was sluggish to put together the pieces.

And then he understood.

Blaine wasn't laughing anymore. He wasn't even smiling. His face was twisted with rage, his gun pulled, safety released, and pointed straight at Danny.

Steve's heart skipped a beat. This entire thing had been mostly out of his control from the beginning, but he'd been hedging his bets on the cold fact that while Blaine would kill for money, he wouldn't be moved to that until he got what he wanted. Stalling had been the smart option, but he hadn't wanted to think that when time ran out, they still might not be any closer to salvation than they were when this started.

Steve didn't misjudge often.

It was a numbing thought that he might have this time. It wasn't simply justice on the line. This wasn't about Blaine getting away anymore. This was about getting through this mess alive, and Steve had walked that fine line as best he could.

But he wasn't the one in control. He could only push Blaine so far, and he was reminded of it cruelly now, because Blaine held his life in his hands. More than that, he held Danny's life in his hands, and the only thing between his partner and an untimely death was Blaine's finger, which was firmly on the trigger, just waiting for a reason.

And there was nothing Steve could do about it. He was handcuffed and beaten and some criminal from his past had a gun on his partner and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd worked the situation the best he could, played all his cards, and it might not be enough.

Of course, there was something Steve could do about it. He could tell Blaine what he wanted to know. Hell, _Blaine_ knew the source, which was another reason why divulging this information would be counterproductive. If Blaine was pissed off enough to stage the entire kidnapping, Steve didn't want to think what he'd do with the intel Steve still had.

Desperate, Steve shook his head, bile churning in his stomach. In the big picture, there were some compromises he could live with, and some he wasn't sure he could. He'd staked his life on ideals for the better part of his career, and he'd had a lot of success. He knew that counted for something, but right then, with the gun cocked and pointed at Danny, Steve suddenly understood that all the success in the world couldn't make up for certain failures.

He could still hear the shot. He could still feel it reverberate in his ear even after the line went dead. There was no way of knowing if Hesse would have let his father go even if his brother went free, but there was that horrible what-if that Steve couldn't shake. The price for taking the high road was his father's blood, and if he could do it again, he wasn't so sure he wouldn't have made the choice that saved his father's life, even if it meant letting someone bad get away.

He carried the weight of his father's death with him every day on the job. He told himself that his compromise had been worth it. That staying true to his morals and his mission had been the right thing to do. Sometimes that made the burden easier to carry.

Sometimes it didn't.

He wasn't sure he was ready to carry the same for Danny.

He wasn't sure he could tell Grace that her daddy was never coming home.

Some compromises had to be made. He just had to pick which guilt was worse. Which one would keep him up at night, which one could he let go of. Letting a criminal go or his partner's life.

Suddenly it wasn't a hard question. It wasn't even a debate.

Heart pounding, Steve felt his face flush and he opened his mouth to speak-

When the sound of a cell phone cut him off.

It was a simple ringer, which meant it definitely wasn't Danny's. Steve kept his own on vibrate.

Which meant-

Blaine's eyes went from Danny to the gun to his pocket. He pursed his lips as he worked his phone out of with one hand, the gun still poised with the other.

He felt Danny's breath hitch, but other than that, Danny wasn't moving.

Blaine's eyes glanced at the screen and then he looked back at Danny and Steve with a wry smile. "Fortunately for you, I really should take this," he said, reluctantly dropping his aim. He quirked his head to the side. "Seems like a nice place for everyone to regain their composure before we finish our little chat."

Steve didn't say anything. For once, Danny didn't either. It was silent as Blaine retreated to the office, leaving Malcolm looking a little pale. The kid cast a glance backward before squaring his shoulders and turning his eyes back to Steve and Danny.

Hands feeling cold, Steve moved them in the cuffs, trying to regain his circulation. He wasn't opposed to taking his good luck where he could find it, and given the way today was going, Blaine's phone call was as much a blessing as anything.

They'd all been pushed to the edge. There was no telling if Blaine would have pulled the trigger or what he would have done if Steve had given him what he wanted.

Steve didn't even know for sure what he had been going to say, if he was going to tell Blaine the truth or a well-timed lie to buy them time.

It was a relief, though. They didn't have to buy the time when they'd been given it.

Steve took a steadying breath, blowing it out purposefully.

This was the chance they needed to regroup. He needed to play the bluff out a little longer, and if Blaine had time to cool his nerves, he was less likely to start shooting. This was time Steve needed. As long as there wasn't a gun to Danny's head, Steve didn't have to say anything. It was a last resort he knew he couldn't deny, but it had to stay as a last resort. It was a delicate balance now, a give and take that he needed to time just right, but as long as Blaine wasn't at his breaking point, Steve had to stay away from his - no matter what.

He glanced over his shoulder. He could feel Danny at his back, his breaths coming shallow and fast, almost small tremors through his battered body.

This was time they both needed.

With another somewhat deeper breath, Steve composed himself. He nodded back toward his partner. "How are you doing back there?"

Danny let out a strangled laugh, his entire body twitching with the effort. "Peachy," he said. "Nothing like a gun to my head to get the blood moving."

It wasn't funny. Nothing about the situation was funny, but Steve found himself laughing anyway. "I've always thought you talked too much," he said, and he hoped that Danny could hear the apology there.

Danny snorted a little in reply. "And I always told you that you piss people off too much," he said. He shrugged a little, his hands flailing ineffectually. "I guess we were both right."

Steve let his gaze go the floor. He could hear the acceptance along with Danny's nonplussed _it's okay_.

He nodded, grinding his teeth together for a moment. "Yeah," he said, hoping that it was true in more ways than one. "I guess we were."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: And now the action picks up a bit :) Happy reading!

HOUR SEVEN

Danny had never actually been in a hostage situation before. At least not on the inside.

Needless to say, he had expected such an experience to be somehow more interesting.

Sure, every now and then Blaine came back with the same round of questioning before using Danny like a punching bag, and the use of the gun had had quite the dramatic impact, but the long stretches in between were filled with unconsciousness or general boredom.

For this latest phone call, Blaine had been in the office for nearly twenty minutes, if Danny's internal clock could be trusted. He'd spent the first five getting his heart rate under control after having a gun shoved in his face, but the following fifteen had been nothing but monotony.

Especially since Steve wasn't much for small talk in these situations. All that grunting and fiddling with the cuffs. The constant jerking and pulling as if it would make some kind of difference the two thousandth time he tried.

While Steve frittered away pointlessly at the handcuffs, Danny passed his time in other ways.

First, he tried figuring out just how many boxes were in the warehouse. His best guess was somewhere between sixty-two and ninety-eight, though if the place were actually used for its intended purpose, he figured it could easily house a couple of thousand, hands down. Maybe more if they forewent fire regulations and blocked off the windows.

Second, what exactly was in the boxes? They were stacked rather neatly along the far wall in careful rows. They all had lids but weren't taped down. It was obvious that the warehouse was a front for something far more nefarious, and given what he knew now about Blaine's history, he could only assume the warehouse still had some connection to drug trafficking.

But it seemed unlikely that they would keep any drug paraphernalia in boxes in the warehouse, because that would make it a pretty crappy front, especially since they had been expecting the investigation to come this far.

So what could possibly be in the boxes? And were they Blaine's boxes or Malcolm's? Or someone else's entirely?

For the record, it probably didn't matter, but Danny was handcuffed and beaten in a warehouse, and he was becoming interminably bored with sitting and waiting while Blaine seemed to edge closer and closer to offing him altogether.

All things considered, contemplating the boxes kept him from wanting to ream Steve out for getting them into this mess to begin with.

Of course, it would help if Steve weren't so annoyingly focused on playing with the handcuffs.

Steve gave another particularly hard jerk and Danny sighed in exasperation, feeling the metal slice into his wrist yet again. For the damage Blaine had inflicted to his head, Steve seemed set on topping it with damage to his wrists. "You know," he whispered, as casually as he could. "Even if you could get out of the cuffs, the kid with the gun is standing right there."

Steve paused, seeming to glance at Malcolm. The kid was still standing with his gun, watching them with vague apprehension a few feet away. He looked even less imposing than when they first woke up, with dark smudges under his eyes and disheveled hair. The fact that Malcolm seemed content to watch while Steve worked uselessly at his cuffs did nothing to indicate that Malcolm was something of a real threat, the large gun notwithstanding.

Though Danny did have a feeling that the size of the gun was an indication of the kid's lack of confidence.

Or simply his lack of aim.

Possibly both, but Danny was pretty sure he didn't want to find out for sure.

Danny smiled and nodded at him.

Steve gave the cuffs another shake. "I'm not just going to sit here," he huffed. "And I think Malcolm here can understand that."

Malcolm swallowed a little and made a concerted effort to put on a tough face. "You should just tell us what we want to know," he said, going for something of a growl but not pulling it off completely.

Steve yanked the cuffs again for good measure.

Danny sighed, shaking his head. It was like being between a rock and a hard place. He understood Steve's hardline stand on this one, he really did. Danny wasn't exactly keen on giving Blaine anything that he wanted. But - and this was a pretty important but - the illusion of cooperation might give them a little bit of wiggle room.

More than that, it might mean he would stop getting punched. "You know," Danny offered conversationally, his eyes skimming the room and landing on Malcolm for a moment, before turning back to look at Steve. "If we all just understood the art of compromise-"

"We're handcuffed," Steve cut him off. "They're threatening to kill us."

As if to prove the point, Malcolm adjusted his grip on the gun.

Danny smiled grimly. The action pulled at the bruised skin on his face and aggravating his split lip. "As if I could forget," he murmured. But then he shook his head, undaunted. "But seriously. I mean, Blaine wants his money. I want to get out of here. I'm just thinking if we could all meet each other halfway, this might be a happy ending."

"We don't negotiate with criminals," Steve said roughly, clanking the handcuffs against the back of the chair. It was the same line he'd been repeating all day, and it still sounded like crap from where Danny was sitting.

"Yes, and criminals kill people. Even cops. Especially cops who won't tell them what they want to know," Danny explained. With all the talking, he tasted blood in his mouth, and he swallowed it with a grimace.

As if on cue, Malcolm shifted from foot to foot, using one hand to scratch his ear.

All things considered, it was not exactly an impressive show of force but really, much preferable to Blaine's aggressive tactics.

Not that Steve seemed remotely aware of it.

No, his partner, ever persistent in his own stupidity, simply jerked the handcuffs again, twisting them violently this time so that Danny had to twist with him to avoid getting cut.

"They more they demand, the less I'm going to tell," Steve said stubbornly.

Danny winced, feeling warm blood well up on his wrists. As if he really needed another injury to keep track of. "You know, I think you missed the negotiation part of police work when the governor fast tracked you into service," he said lightly. Rather, as lightly as he could with a split lip, swollen face, and burning abdomen. And bleeding wrists. He couldn't forget the bleeding wrists. Oh, and his probably destroyed knee.

"Did you miss the part where I don't negotiate with criminals?" Steve asked pointedly.

Danny nodded. "Ah, yes. How could I forget. I do believe it was one of the many lines that prompted Blaine to smash his fist into my skull. Or maybe that time it was a kick. My ACL feels great, though, thanks for asking."

Steve sighed a little at that, his struggle ceasing. "Did he get you there?"

Danny snorted, trying not to sort through the many pains that plagued his body. "There and everywhere else," he reported. He didn't bother to tell Steve that it felt worse now than it did when he first tore it back in high school. "I'll be lucky if I only get a cane this time."

Steve paused. "How's your stomach? Anything particularly swollen there?"

Danny rolled his eyes. As if he could distinguish one searing pain from another. But he knew what Steve was getting at. That many blows to the abdomen were going to hurt, but a few well-placed ones could cause a slow bleed.

As if Danny needed anything else cheerful to think about during this lovely stint as a hostage. "Gee, I don't know," Danny snarked. "Perhaps you would like to conduct an exam. Oh wait, that's right. You can't because you're handcuffed."

Steve twiddled with the cuffs again, shaking his head. "You're not being very helpful."

Danny blew out a breath. "And neither are you!" he said. Because if Steve was difficult on a normal day, he was downright infuriating on days like today. Maybe it was the handcuffs, maybe it was the headache, maybe it was the stomach. Maybe it was all of it combined because Steve could hold the high ground all day long but he needed to learn how to stop pissing off the bad guys for the sheer hell of it. Danny's head was hard, but not that hard, and he would rather be able to still recognize Grace when all this was said and done.

And really, they needed a better tactic than sitting and thumbing their noses - metaphorically speaking. In truth, Danny would love to have the ability to thumb his nose at the moment, but since that was out with the handcuffs and Steve was pissing him off, maybe it was time for a little bad cop/good cop.

True, this tactic usually worked best when the other person was handcuffed, but give Malcolm's doe-eyed disposition, Danny had to think it'd be somewhat successful.

If not, it would at least be something to torque his partner off, which, as far as Danny was concerned, Steve had coming at this point. "Come on, please," Danny said, letting himself whine just a little. "Can't you give these guys something? Malcolm will be flexible. Won't you, Malcolm?"

The kid looked at him, face wavering for a moment. It was neither an affirmation or a rejection, so as far as Danny was concerned at the moment, it was a win.

"See, Malcolm's willing to meet us halfway," Danny concluded.

"If you tell us, I'll make sure Blaine knows you were cooperative," Malcolm offered, and he actually did sound sincere.

Not that Danny generally put much stock in the word of a criminal, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "Great," Danny said. "See? So give us a name. An initial maybe. We could play Hangman."

Steve paused again. "You want to play Hangman?"

Danny could _see_ Steve's face, twisted in genuine confusion. "I'm great at hangman," he said. "And I don't know, I thought it might be more fun than playing Whack-a-Cop with my head."

Steve's head cocked.

Danny shook his head dismissively. "Don't think on it too hard."

"Hangman or Whack-a-Cop?"

Danny sighed, wishing again for full control of his hands. They were the only part of him that didn't feel broken, save for the abrasions from the handcuffs, and yet they were still completely useless to him. "I think you're missing my point."

Steve fiddled his fingers again. "No, I'm sure I'm missing the point, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about telling Malcolm something. Anything," Danny said, a little pleadingly. Because act or not, Danny knew he still had a point, even if Steve wasn't going to admit it. And yes, Danny was aware of the futility of his request - even the stupidity of it - but his face hurt, his head hurt, his stomach hurt, and his friggin' leg hurt, and he really, really wanted it to be for _something_. "Make a show of good faith."

Steve was quiet for a moment, fingers twitching restlessly. Malcolm almost looked hopeful.

Then Steve shook his head. "It won't help us, Danny," he said. "You _know_ that."

Danny groaned, letting his head fall back in full melodramatic despair. "You're impossible," he moaned. "You're completely impossible. Masochistic, self-righteous, and impossible."

"But I'm right," Steve said simply.

"That would be the self-righteous part," Danny agreed with a nod.

"But I'm right," Steve reiterated pointlessly.

"Do you not know the definition of self-righteous?"

Steve's reply was excessively annoying. "Do _you_ know the definition of self-righteous?"

Danny couldn't bear to justify the comment, at least not without access to a wall to slam his head against. Repeatedly.

Since that wasn't an option, Danny turned his attention elsewhere. Fixing Malcolm with an apologetic look, he shrugged. "I just want it on the record that I tried," he said. "Gave it everything I had."

Malcolm looked at him warily before retreating back to the office. When he got there, Blaine closed the door, shooting an angry look at Danny before jerking Malcolm roughly by the arm. Even though the wall, Danny could hear the heated timbre of Blaine's voice.

"You're pulling quite the show over there," Steve mused from behind him.

Danny shrugged a little, wetting his lips and trying not to notice the stinging on his lip. "How do you know it's a show?"

Steve worked his wrists. "I know," he said plainly.

With a snort, Danny shook his head. "You know?" he repeated. "Maybe I just don't like being bashed in the head repeatedly just so you can make your epic last stand."

"It's not going to be my last stand," Steve said simply.

"Of course not," Danny said. "It'll be my last stand."

"You know why I can't tell them," Steve said, his voice hedging a little.

At that, Danny felt his frustrations deflate somewhat. He did know why. He saw the logic of it, even if he didn't agree with it.

Danny made a face. "Looks like things aren't going so well on the criminal front," he said.

Steve rattled the cuffs again. "Yeah, well, they're not going so great on this end either," he said. "And what do you think you're doing? Looking for a way to get killed?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "That kid isn't a killer," he said.

"He's got a gun," Steve countered. "I thought you were against kids with guns."

"I am against kids with guns, but all things considered, I've got to pick my battles today and little Malcolm and his gun are at the bottom of my concerns."

"So, just to be clear, it's okay for a kid to have a gun as long as he's not as scary as an adult with a gun?" Steve clarified.

Danny rolled his eyes. "He's not going to shoot it," he said. "And what are you doing? I respect the determination to get out of here, I promise, I really do, but don't you think we need to revise our plan of attack just a little bit?"

"Oh, what, by getting in buddy-buddy with the kid?" Steve asked.

"Don't even," Danny said, shaking his head. "I know you're working him, too."

Steve was sullen at that, but Danny took satisfaction in the fact that he didn't disagree.

"I'm talking about our approach with Blaine," Danny continued, keeping a cautious eye on the office. Blaine was working up a heat now, pointing a finger at Malcolm while the kid was pale.

"We can't tell him anything," Steve said, sounding annoyingly like a broken record. "I told you that."

Danny sighed. "I'm not asking you to compromise your morals, Captain America," he said. "I'm not even asking you to to relinquish what little leverage you have. I'm just asking for a plan. Leverage is only leverage if you're using it to work to your advantage. You, sitting there, telling Blaine to go screw himself, really doesn't seem like you're doing anything but pissing him off."

"I'm stalling," Steve said. "Our best bet is to drag this out."

"Drag it out, yes," Danny agreed. "But if we don't give them something, they're not going to let it drag out. They're going to kill us."

"Not without the information," Steve said. "Blaine's going to a lot of trouble. He needs the name."

"Right, so we need to tell him something to whet his appetite," Danny suggested. "I mean, can't we tell him something to get him off our backs? Just for a little bit? A lead for him to check out? A hint? As fun as it is to get beat up, I'd really prefer not to go another round, especially since Blaine seems increasingly fond of his gun."

Steve drew a breath and then let it out. "He's getting desperate," he said. Then he paused, shaking his head. "It's make or break time. Blaine's playing his bluffs now."

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "But how many times will he bluff before he follows through?"

"I'm not sure he will," Steve said slowly. "He's waited this long."

"You know as well as I do he's not going to just let us go," Danny said, because it was true. He didn't want to talk about it, but it was about time they were honest or they might never come up with a plan to avoid it. "If we don't give him something, we're going to be dead."

"Chin and Kono are looking for us by now," Steve replied. "It's just a matter of time."

"But how much time?" Danny challenged. "Because I told you, I'm due to pick Grace up from school."

Steve sighed again, and Danny felt his head shake. "I just need you to trust me on this, okay?"

Danny couldn't help it: he laughed. Because it really was kind of funny. Danny couldn't see out of one eye, he had a split lip, and was probably going to be permanently stuck with a limp, and Steve wanted him to _trust him_. "We're handcuffed and I'm getting beaten to a pulp and you want me to trust you?"

"Getting you out in time to pick up Grace is my topmost priority," Steve said, and the son of a bitch sounded like he meant it, too. Only Steve could pull off such utter frankness even as he was staunchly responsible. "But I told you, the more you know, the more likely it is that Blaine will up his game."

Danny shook his head, feeling the sticking point come back to him again. "I still say we share the burden," he said. As much as he hated the beating he was taking, he knew it was only a matter of time until Steve got a taste of it, too. "If he's got two of us to question, he'll have to take longer with each of us."

"I know Blaine," Steve said with finality. "If he thinks you know, he'll take you out back and kill you for it. Right now, you're nothing but a bargaining chip, which makes you valuable. As long as he thinks you're just along for the ride, he's less likely to kill you."

It was hard to argue. Not because Steve was necessarily right or wrong, but because his focus was so singular. Steve was playing team leader to a predictable T. Protect the cause; protect the team. Even if that meant leaving himself ultimately vulnerable and letting his partner suffer in the interim. "Just beat me up quite thoroughly," he said lightly.

"It's better than the alternative," Steve said shortly. He paused and Danny could imagine the tight expression on his face. "Just trust me."

Danny sighed. There was so much about the plan he didn't agree with - almost fundamentally - and yet Steve was bringing it all back to trust. Steve was keeping his secrets, leaving Danny as leverage, and asking for trust. Eye swollen, lip bleeding, stomach aching, and Steve was asking for trust.

Of all the things, Steve wanted _trust_.

On most levels, Danny trusted Steve. He really did. He knew his partner would never intentionally get him killed or even purposefully let him get hurt. And he even knew that in his flagrant disregard for Blaine's threats, Steve really was doing it to protect Danny. It was stupid and misguided and lacked all common sense, but Danny trusted that Steve's intentions in all of this were good.

Danny even trusted that when push came to shove, Steve wouldn't sacrifice Danny's life for some so-called greater good. Steve was still new to the whole partnership thing, but he was rabid about protecting his team. Danny knew that Steve wouldn't let Danny die without giving up the name, if that was what it took.

But, the thing that bothered him most - well, second most, because the he was pretty worried that he'd have to have surgery on his knee this time - was that Steve knew more than he was letting on. There were a whole lot of pieces that Danny was missing to this puzzle. Pieces about who Blaine was and what relationship he'd had with Steve. Pieces about who the informant was and the mysteriously absent money. Pieces that drove Danny's detective brain absolutely crazy and made him want to slap Steve upside the head for playing it so close to the vest.

But trust.

Danny had to trust him. He'd had to trust him from day one, from the first time he'd played backup and gotten shot, and he hadn't stopped since. Because Steve was a moron. He was difficult and annoying and bullheaded and insane, but he cared about doing the right thing.

And yeah, despite his antics, he did care about Danny's well-being. Danny even had an apology to prove it.

Partnerships were built on trust. They were defined by trust. There was no way Danny could come in to this job, day after day, if he didn't trust Steve.

Even when it got him shot. Even when they were driving onto boats. Even when they were driving on cliffs.

Even when they were handcuffed and beaten to hell.

Trust.

For all the things he didn't know, he knew Steve, and that was ultimately what mattered, even if Danny didn't like it. Especially when Danny didn't like it.

Danny sighed in resignation. "Fine," he said tersely. "I'll trust you."

"Good," Steve said, and the son of a bitch didn't even have the decency to sound relieved.

Scowling, Danny turned his head, as if to make his point clearer. "But not happily," he said.

"I'll take what I can get," Steve said hastily.

Danny shifted a little, fingers stretching in the cuffs. "That's easy for you to say since you're not the one being used as a punching bag."

"It's not that bad," Steve said, maneuvering his own wrists in another futile attempt to ascertain any weakness in the cuffs.

"That's funny," Danny said. "Me and my headache think that's very funny."

"Yeah, well, you and your headache should just quiet down now for a little bit," Steve said, his shoulders squaring a little. "We've got company."

Looking up again through his good eye, Danny could see Blaine and Malcolm making their way back through the door.

Danny grimaced in anticipation. "Wonderful," he said. "Because I sort of missed getting punched in the head repeatedly."

Steve didn't reply, but there wasn't really much time to. Blaine made short work of the distance, stopping a few feet in front of them, Malcolm taking up his normal position in the shadows.

"So," Blaine said, rubbing his hands together. He looked from Steve to Danny and back again with an efficient nod of his head. "Malcolm and I have had the most scintillating conversation."

Danny's gaze flickered back to Malcolm, who was positively skulking now, a good five feet behind Blaine.

Danny nodded with a forced smile. "I can tell."

Blaine's demeanor didn't darken. "Because it was so insightful, I decided to give you one last chance."

"I'm not telling you anything," Steve interjected, voice hard and unwavering.

A smile twitched on Blaine's lips. "But I didn't even get to ask the question."

Steve shrugged. "You don't need to," he said. "I'll spare you the effort."

Blaine nodded, still smiling. "Very thoughtful of you," he said. "But still. Perhaps for Detective Williams' sake, I should ask."

"Hey, it's not like anyone's taken me into consideration so far," Danny muttered. "Wouldn't want to strain you all now with the bother of my presence."

"Well, this one is for you," Blaine said politely. "Lieutenant Commander McGarrett, can you please tell me who your source was?"

There was a small hesitation, but Danny knew Steve well enough to know that it was nothing but dramatic effect. Steve accused Danny of liking theatrics, but Steve had his moments.

Besides, when the flat, "No," came out of Steve's mouth, no one was surprised.

Blaine nodded again, this time with a knowing regret. "I thought you might say that," he said. He looked down, scratching his ear. He looked up again with a self-deprecating shrug. "But I wanted to give you the chance."

That was almost laughable, especially given the throbbing in Danny's face, side, and knee. He hadn't had a chance this entire time, no matter what delusions of grandeur their psychotic host was harboring by this point.

It was all wrong, though. Different. Blaine was always more composed when he first came out, but this was different. It wasn't just Blaine blowing smoke or playing the part. Something had changed.

Something big.

And Danny wasn't sure he actually wanted to find out what.

Shifting uneasily, Danny wished there was something he could do or say to make this go a little bit better.

Unfortunately for him, being leverage made him valuable only as an object. And while his witty repartee was an excellent distraction, his vocal cords didn't seem to be completely functional at the moment.

Not with his heart in his throat.

If Steve knew - Danny didn't want to imagine the _wonders never cease_ spiel.

Actually, Danny didn't want to imagine much of anything because he was pretty hard up on positive possible outcomes. All he knew for sure was that he had a hard-ass partner with all the answers but no inclination to give them and he was being held captive by someone equally as moronically hard-lined but with no moral compass to balance it out.

At least, not in a way that led to Danny coming out of this thing in one piece.

So when the psycho criminal turned hostage taker was happy even when he still wasn't getting what he wanted? It was time to be worried.

Really worried.

Not that Steve noticed.

"Your game isn't working, Blaine," Steve said. "And it's not going to. There's no point. You can leave us here and run. By the time anyone finds us, you'll be on your way off the island, free and clear."

Blaine looked thoughtful, and Danny dared to hope. It was foolish, and he knew that, but at this point, he was a little desperate to hope, actually. Even criminals had common sense, he had to figure. He didn't much count on compassion - not at this point in the entire miserable process - but there might still be hope for common sense. Sooner or later, reason had to appeal even to those who were criminally inclined.

Finally, Blaine nodded, as though reaffirming something in his mind. "You're quite right, McGarrett," Blaine said. "This game isn't working."

That wasn't exactly the answer Danny had been expecting.

He'd been expecting a "You don't know who you're messing with speech" or perhaps a monologue about all the convenient ways to dispose of a body on a supposed tropical paradise. He'd possibly been expecting an epic meltdown, the equivalent of a toddler's tantrum, right there in front of them. Punches and raging and kicks had all been in the realm of possibility.

But Blaine was serious. Really serious. The game wasn't working and he was onto it.

For a moment, almost irrationally, Danny let himself feel giddy. Maybe Blaine had changed his mind. Maybe Blaine was going to let them go. Maybe Blaine was cutting his losses, packing up and heading out, making for better times.

And Danny was okay with that. He wasn't prone to letting criminals walk free, but this time, for now, he'd make an exception, even if it meant being stuck in this warehouse a little longer. He counted his chances for survival pretty good as long as Blaine and his happy fist were out of the picture. Of course, being handcuffed to Steve for a few more hours would be unpleasant and Danny was certain he'd have to endure more twiddling and ineffective escape tactics, but at this point, the prospect was better than the way the last few hours had gone.

Hell, he'd even play scoot the chair across the floor, bum knee and all. Anything for this miserable ordeal to just be _over_.

And if the game was over, then it was over. Danny could move on with his life, bruises notwithstanding. He'd take them as a consolation prize.

Danny wasn't prone to such irrational conjecture, but he wanted this one. He wanted it pretty bad.

So maybe it was his foolish hope that blinded him. Or maybe Steve's calm and logical voice that had finally managed to blunt his senses entirely. Or maybe he just hadn't had the chance to think it all through yet, because he probably should have seen it coming.

Danny should have seen it, but he didn't.

In fact, Danny didn't see anything at all when the sound of a gunshot split the air.

Didn't see a damn thing before it happened. Didn't see the gun, didn't see the bullet. Didn't see the trigger being pulled. Nothing.

But he did see the shocked look on Malcolm's face, the contented smirk on Blaine's.

For a second, all he could do was stare, trying to put together what it all meant. All the pieces were there, parts of a puzzle, but he couldn't put it together. Not for the life of him.

The life of him...

Danny blinked, and his vision tunneled, his ears almost popping.

Somewhere, he heard Steve yell, scream something profane, but it was hard to make out over the ragged sound of his own breathing as his pulse pounded in his ears.

The life of him.

"But you know as well as I do, McGarrett, that running away from your problems doesn't help," Blaine continued easily, his gun finding its spot in his holster once again. He smiled. "You just have to change the game."

Change the game. He just had to change the game. What the hell did he mean by _change the game_?

Then Danny blinked, and his senses caught up with him. Malcolm staring and Blaine smirking and Steve yelling if he was alright, and Danny looked down, blinked again, and saw red.

Not the kind of red he saw when Rachel's lawyer sent over new paperwork. Not even the kind of red he saw when Step Stan had some new brilliant plan for Grace's future.

Literal red.

All over.

On his shirt, on his tie, some of it even seeping into his pants.

Blood.

His blood.

Change the game.

The life of him.

Danny looked up, mouth open, gasping for breath as all the pieces fell into place and he got the full picture. "You shot me," he breathed, his entire body tingling now, pain a distant but vibrant feeling. "You son of a bitch. You shot me."

At the admission, Steve's struggles intensified, and he heard his partner mutter a string of curses, but couldn't find the strength to address it just yet.

Blaine inclined his head with something of an apology. "Again, I assure you, Detective Williams, it's not personal," he said. "But Lieutenant Commander McGarrett wanted to play a new game. So here we are. Either he tells me what I want to know, or he can listen to you die slowly and painfully."

Danny gaped, the numbness in his body giving way to radiating pain. His eyes watered and he choked on a cry. "I was thinking a nice game of Monopoly might suffice," he said stiffly.

Steve pulled again, jarring them both, but Danny only felt the movement distantly.

Blaine's smile widened. "I already own Park Place and Boardwalk," he said. "So how about the game of Life instead?"

Danny actually laughed, ignoring Steve's demand for answers in the background. "Not my favorite, honestly," he said. "I could have really used that two hundred bucks for passing go."

Two hundred bucks, getting the hell out of here and to the nearest hospital. Little things like that.

But given the look on Blaine's face (somewhere just shy of ecstasy and bordering on revelation) and the sound of Steve's voice (a good octave lower than normal with an added growl that Danny was sure he picked up from Christian Bale), Danny was pretty sure he wasn't going to end up with either any time soon.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: And now, back to Steve's POV to see how he's handling this change in the game. Thanks :)

HOUR EIGHT

Sometimes, bad things happened.

During his time with the Navy, Steve had come to accept that as part of the job. Sometimes plans turned out wrong. Sometimes bad guys got away. Sometimes good people got killed.

None of that was ever necessarily okay, but it was something Steve had learned to live with.

Of course, that had been before someone came along and killed his father.

But Steve was coping - he really was. At least, he was coping the only way he knew how. By fixing the problem. He'd put the man who killed his father behind bars and had been steadily going after the worst people he could find on the island. Human trafficking, drug cartels, international terrorism: in the end, Steve didn't really care. One evil was the same as the last; he'd pledged his service to the general good of Hawaii, and he'd stuck to that ever since.

Solving crimes, putting criminals behind bars - it made sense. It made the loss hurt less. It gave him something to do so he didn't have to think about what he might have done differently if he'd been given the chance.

Because that was the thing with tragedy. Sometimes bad things happened and there was nothing that could be done to change it. He'd been across an ocean when his father had been killed, and Steve had been forced to accept that there was nothing he could have done to change it.

And now, his partner had been shot and they were literally back to back, and there still wasn't a damn thing Steve could do about it.

Blaine smiled at him. "Your turn," he said casually with a smirk on his face. He put away his gun, straightening his shirt a bit, fingers dusting his pants. "And for the record, McGarrett, we are playing for keeps."

With that Blaine nodded at him, casting a purposeful look at Malcolm, who gratefully turned to follow.

"You're a coward, Blaine!" he yelled after him.

Blaine merely turned, tipping his head with a slight bow, before opening the door to the office and slipping inside, Malcolm right on his heels. Blaine made a show of sitting in the large office chair and lounging, opening a bottle of water and taking a purposeful drink.

The sheer helplessness of his situation both infuriated and terrified Steve.

Because he was barely coping with his father's death. He did not want to have to cope with Danny's.

Worse, his partner's voice had tapered off, and while Steve had plenty of words for Blaine, getting a better gauge on his partner's condition was of the utmost concern.

Struggling, he maneuvered to get a better glimpse of his partner.

Danny's head was drooped forward, his shoulders rising and falling in ragged gasps. Even from his restrained position, Steve could see the blood staining Danny's shirt and the drops dripping from the chair and to the floor.

Swearing, he yanked again, desperate to get a better look. Gunshot wounds could range in severity, and there was no way of telling if Danny had suffered a flesh wound or something much more substantial without a closer examination.

"Danny!" he called again, jostling him purposefully.

Danny's head rolled, lifting. The blonde locks were teased out of place as he turned his head lazily to the side. "I thought I said I didn't want to play this game," he muttered.

Steve tried to smile, but couldn't pull it off. "What, you and Grace don't have a family game night?" he joked.

Danny snorted a little, his head rolling forward again. "She still likes Mouse Trap and Mall Madness," he mused.

"Good to see you're teaching her the important stuff," Steve returned.

"I do what I can," Danny murmured, his voice trailing off a bit.

Steve jostled him again. "I know," he said, keeping his voice loud and purposeful. "And now I need you to do something for me, okay?"

Danny made a sound of derision in the back of his throat. "You mean since getting kidnapped with you isn't enough?"

Steve didn't have it in him to humor the jest. When things got difficult, falling back to his training was almost second nature. He needed to take stock, reassess the situation. He needed to know just how badly their position had been compromised in order to fully revise their tactics.

Of course, telling Danny all that would only irritate his partner, so Steve decided to start with a simpler question: "How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm handcuffed and shot," Danny protested, and even if the words had the right rise and fall to suggest Danny's incredulity, they lacked strength. "How do you think I'm doing?"

Sarcastic rhetorical questions were probably par for the course, but even after all this time as Danny's partner, that didn't make them much easier to deal with in tense situations. Reining in a sigh, Steve wet his lips, keeping his eyes trained over his shoulder as best he could. "That's what I need to know," he said, trying to get a glimpse of his partner's face. "How bad is the wound?"

The angle was bad, but he didn't need to see Danny's face to imagine the look of sheer incredulity there. "It's a freakin' hole in my side," he said gruffly, his voice conveying the disgruntled pain that Steve couldn't see. "It's bad."

It was a plaintive answer, but one to be taken with a grain of salt. After all, this was Danny, the same guy who had actually thought Steve was going to throw a guy off a roof or let a person of interest get eaten by sharks. To say Danny was prone to hyperbole was like saying that drug addicts were prone to taking drugs.

Therefore, _it's bad_, could have a multitude of meanings. To Danny, it was _bad_ when they had to take a case on the beach. It was _bad _when Steve did something even slightly different from the tried and true police code. It was _bad _when someone had the audacity to offer him a piece of pineapple.

So to know that it was _bad_ wasn't exactly as informative as Steve might have hoped given his own inability to assess the situation firsthand. If ever he needed his partner to be upfront with him, this was it, without any colorful hand motions or exaggerated tirades.

With a steadying breath, Steve worked to retain his composure. It was true that things weren't going the way he might like them to, but this wasn't Danny's fault. Steve knew that, but he had to make sure that Danny knew he knew it, too. After all, even if his partner did pick inopportune times to regale him with a tirade, he couldn't deny that Danny was justified this time. But he still needed to know. He couldn't see the wound - more than the blood on his shirt and dripping to the floor - and if he was going to come up with a plan to fix this, he needed to know just how bad it was. "Is the bullet still in there?" he prodded.

Danny shifted, grunting a little. "You mean is the pointed piece of metal still lodged in my flesh?" he asked. "That's an affirmative."

Steve refused to let that bother him, even though it really did. A lot. He liked to defend the right causes and he was able to make a case for complete strangers in need of his protection, so finding himself protective of his partner was almost uncontrollable.

Still, there was a time and place for justice. This wasn't it. Not with too many variables still unknown. He wanted to make sure that Danny got out of here alive before he worried about bringing Blaine back to justice. "Do you think it hit anything vital?"

"I hit my body," Danny sniped. "All of that is vital."

This time, Steve had to roll his eyes at Danny's theatrics. And at himself for not seeing that one coming a mile away. "I mean, is it a flesh wound or something worse?"

"Something worse?" Danny asked. "Something worse? You mean, it needs to be worse than a flesh wound?"

Steve wanted to be patient - he really did. He knew his partner was hurting and tired, and that a lot of it was Steve's fault. And he knew how Danny coped. This was all part of who Danny Williams was, and Steve didn't claim to understand it, but he was sort of coming to expect it. Sometimes he knew he just had to let Danny rant it out. He had never been a big believer in catharsis theory, but seeing Danny in action had made him reconsider.

In another situation, he'd let Danny have his full run. But they were running short on time and hard up on options. Steve needed a straight answer. He needed to know how long they had and just how serious this was. _Now. _"It doesn't need to be worse," he explained as patiently as he could. "But if it is worse, I think I have to know."

"I'm bleeding and I've got a bullet in me," Danny sassed back. "What else is there to know?"

There was a lot left to know. Because Steve understood from firsthand experience how vastly gunshot wounds varied. He wasn't about to take Blaine's word on how much time Danny had. "Did it hit a kidney? Your intestines? Liver?"

"Gee, let me just open up my stomach cavity and take a look," Danny muttered. "I have no idea!"

Steve took a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He should have seen that objection coming. When he opened his eyes again, he looked over his shoulder with a new strategy in mind. "Is the shot to the side?"

Danny sighed a little, but in resignation. "Yes, Doctor, it's to the side."

That was marginally good news. There was less chance of hitting something vital there, though it wasn't a guarantee, especially with their rudimentary hands-off and eyes-free examination tactics. "Do you feel any unusual pain?" Steve pressed.

"You mean besides the throbbing of a bullet being lodged in my side?"

"Yes," Steve said, endeavoring to keep his worry and exasperation at bay. At this point, it was truly a toss up as to which emotion was more disconcerting. "Anything sharp across your abdomen or especially deep?"

"No," Danny snapped, and it became obvious that Steve wasn't the only one who was feeling the strain of the situation. While his partner was apoplectic under normal circumstances, his sarcastic brand of humor was downright cutting under duress. "Nothing beyond the throbbing fire at my side."

Without looking closer, Steve would have no way of knowing for sure, but he had reason to hope they'd gotten lucky. After all, in addition to the sparse details Danny was providing, it was clear that his partner was still talking - and entirely coherently. More than that, Danny was able to muster up the stamina for a pretty good go at ranting, which could only bode well for his overall condition. True, his voice was weak, but not quite slurred, and that could be easily written off as preliminary shock or pain. If Blaine wanted to kill Danny, he'd be dead already, and Steve knew that would work in their favor - for now.

Still, even flesh wounds were dangerous, and with the bullet still inside, there was a stronger chance of infection that Steve knew he couldn't mess with. Just like Blaine had said, they were on a timer now, and Steve couldn't risk misjudging just how much time they had left. "How's the bleeding?" he asked.

"It's great," Danny said tersely. "How do you think?"

Even if it was Danny's coping mechanism, Steve didn't find his sarcasm overly helpful. "Is it fast or slow? Controlled or copious?"

"Copious?" Danny asked. "I tend to think anything coming from a bullet wound is a bit copious."

Steve gritted his teeth. They didn't have time for this. Especially not now. Steve didn't handle a loss of control very well, and to be devoid of power while someone on his team was injured was a whole new level of frustration. Steve needed to know how Danny was doing - how he was really doing. That way he could know how much help to expect from his partner to mount an escape or how long he had before things went from bad to worse.

Mostly, Steve just needed to know. And if he was repeating himself, that was because Danny seemed incapable of providing anything resembling a legitimate answer. This wasn't their usual pissing match, where Steve could win or lose and nothing would matter except for his pride. This was about the plan, about their survival.

Hell, at this point it was even about his sanity. "Danny, I need you to be straight with me," he said, almost begging.

"I've got a bullet in my side!" Danny exploded back, his body twitching with the effort. "It hurts and it's bleeding and it sort of sucks! I don't know how bad it is because I try not to make a habit of being shot on a regular basis, though my time with you is certainly making this a lot less uncommon that I would prefer. So excuse me if I can't give you a thorough medical diagnosis while handcuffed, kidnapped, and _shot_!"

Danny's anger deflated him, and Steve blew out a breath, dropping his head back to look at the ceiling. At his back, he felt Danny's shoulders rise and fall as he panted.

This was typical, really. Steve was trying to do what was best, but Danny was dead set on having his say, too. Steve had always assumed the role of team leader with unquestioned authority, but Danny was always right there at his side with a snide remark and a tirade for good measure. He didn't know why this situation of extreme peril would be any different. Danny was shot, but he wasn't a nonentity in this equation. It was clear to Steve that his partner didn't intend on being a damsel in distress for Steve to rescue.

Finally, Steve turned his head back to the side, trying to get a look at his partner. "I'm sorry," he said. "For getting you handcuffed, kidnapped, and shot."

Danny shifted a little, as if considering the proffered apology. "I appreciate that," he said, a little begrudgingly.

"You've got to believe me," Steve continued, and he wanted to make sure that Danny heard this and understood it. "I'm doing everything I can to get us out of here."

Danny nodded tightly. "I know."

"So I need you to tell me straight, how bad is it?"

Danny drew a ragged breath and let it out heavily. "Honestly?"

Steve nodded readily. "Honestly."

"Not great," Danny said. "It's bleeding and it seems like a hell of a lot, but I've seen worse."

Danny's voice was raw and simple, stripped of the excessive emotion that usually colored the blonde's ranting.

That was the bottom line. Danny was hurt, but he was holding on. That was all Steve could ask of him right now.

Which meant that it was up to Steve to start making serious headway on some kind of plan.

Jaw tight, he turned his attention back to the office.

Malcolm was talking now, throwing his arms wide. His expression looked scared, a little desperate.

It just seemed to piss Blaine off. He held up a finger and pointed it at Malcolm, making several jabs in the kid's direction. All things considered, it clearly wasn't a happy exchange - for either party involved.

Malcolm's anger seemed to fizzle and he dropped his head. Steve had never had any questions about the pecking order, but this only confirmed that while Malcolm was a participant in this, he wasn't completely willing. It seemed likely that Blaine hadn't intended on shooting anyone - at least, it had never been part of the plan he shared with Malcolm.

The fact that Blaine felt pressured to take such measures was both a good sign and a bad sign. It was always beneficial to get the bad guy off his game - to make him stray from his best laid plans. He wanted to get some kind of leg up on Blaine, and it was clear that by making him change the rules of the game, Steve had clearly threatened him in some capacity.

However, the fact that Blaine had responded by shooting Danny only proved the point that if Blaine were pushed into a corner, he would go out firing. Handcuffed to a chair, that didn't leave Steve or Danny much way out.

Danny's head lolled back, brushing against the back of his own. "You got quiet back there," he mused. "I don't like it when you're quiet."

"I'm thinking," Steve replied, fiddling at his cuffs again and testing them against the metal of the chair.

"I know you're thinking," Danny said, his voice a little hazy. "You're always thinking. You have all these faces when you're thinking so normally I don't have to ask what you're thinking, because I can just see it on your face."

"You always ask me what I'm thinking," Steve said with a frown.

"Only because admitting your inner thoughts is a critical step in self-actualization."

Steve stopped his work and turned his head to stare as best he could. "What?"

Danny shook his head. "Nothing," he replied, a little drowsily. "Just. What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how to get out of here," Steve said. Then he stopped. "What are you thinking about?"

Danny shrugged a little. "I'm thinking about what you're thinking about."

"About how to get out of here?"

"No, you and what you're actually thinking. I was trying to envision the synapses in your brain and wondering if they triggered like they do in a normal person or if they skip a few key steps of self-control and miss the transition from thought into action."

Steve shook his head, pulling at his cuffs again. "You know, normally I'd attribute that to blood loss and shock, but I have to admit, with you, it seems pretty normal."

Danny laughed a little. "Very good," he said. "As if the bullet in my side isn't enough, now my partner has taken to insulting me."

It was an annoyingly valid point. "I'm just watching Blaine and trying to figure out what we can use as leverage," he explained.

Danny seemed to follow his gaze. In the office, Malcolm was slouched in a chair now; Blaine was on the phone, talking with animated gestures.

"He looks silly when he does that," Danny commented.

Steve quirked a look over his shoulder. "You do know that you look like that all the time, right?"

Danny attempted to shrug. "I use my hands to make a point," he said sharply. "Blaine's just flailing. I do not flail."

That point was debatable, but Danny was right about Blaine. He was flailing. "He's worried," he said.

"He's the one who just shot an officer of the law," Danny muttered, and if he sounded more disdainful than usual, Steve figured he was entitled. "He should be worried."

"No, I mean, he's really worried," Steve said. "This isn't going the way he wants it to."

"Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but it's not exactly going the way we want it to, either."

The point was valid to some degree, but it wasn't entirely relevant. Nothing had gone the way Steve had intended, not since they entered the warehouse and got knocked out. From there, they were still trying to rectify that initial mistake, despite all the complications that seemed to keep cropping up. "We can still use this to our advantage," Steve tried to explain. "The more on edge Blaine is-"

"The more likely he is to shoot us," Danny concluded. Then he snorted. "Oh, wait, he already did that."

Steve scowled, still watching Blaine. The man was pacing, one hand running through his hair. "I just don't know who he's talking to," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Maybe he's just catching up with old friends," Danny mused randomly. "Being on the inside so long, he might have some real bridges to mend. Or, you know, other illegal things to plan. How am I supposed to know?"

Steve ignored him for a moment, honing in further. Blaine stopped pacing, and as he turned to face the wall, Steve could see his drawn expression. It wasn't the look of someone who was just out for money. Not even the face of a guy who was out for revenge.

No, these calls were important, and, most likely linked to each other and the situation at hand.

It was a curious idea. But linked how? Steve had considered this case a slam dunk when it fell into his lap all those years ago. Steve's source had been from inside the military itself - someone inside Blaine's own unit - and Steve hadn't even thought to look twice. Blaine hadn't rolled over on any partners and the source had given no indication of involvement.

So what exactly had Steve missed? Where was the missing money? Who was the mystery caller that Blaine seemed so keen on trying to please and so worried about disappointing? And how exactly did Malcolm tie into this?

They were important questions - for another time.

The essential question was still: how could Steve use any of this to get them out of this situation? And fast?

"Danny," Steve said. "Do you remember from the case file if Malcolm had any other ties to Blaine? Was there anything about who negotiated the purchase agreement?"

Danny, being the by the book kind of cop that he was, was usually good for details like that. For what Danny sometimes lacked in creative investigation techniques, he made up for with simple no-nonsense police know-how.

Which was why it was weird there was no reply.

"Danny," he tried again. He twitched his fingers to punctuate his plea. "Danny."

There was still no answer. That wasn't normal - on any level.

With new concern, Steve straightened, turning his attention back to his partner. Danny was slumped forward, held upright by the handcuffs. Steve could see the red still pooling on the floor.

Panic flared inside of him. Desperate, Steve shook the cuffs, letting them rattle the chair loudly. "Hey," he called. He shook them again, more persistently, willing Danny to respond. "Hey!"

At that, Danny groaned a little, his head lifting. "You're kind of annoying in hostage situations, you know that?"

It wasn't the resounding endorsement of health that Steve might want it to be, but it was certainly something. In all of his posturing, he had failed to remember how quickly Danny's condition could change. Steve needed to think of a plan, that much was undoubtedly true, but he also needed to keep the lines of communication open. While most days he would gladly pay Danny cash to just shut up, today was the one day needed him to keep talking - no matter what.

"Better annoying than wimping out," Steve said, and he let his voice carry an edge. He would piss Danny off all day long if it kept his partner with him.

"That's funny," Danny said, and his head rolled forward again. "You're kind of funny when you're pissed off."

"You haven't seen me pissed off yet," Steve warned. He clattered the cuffs again. "Danny. Hey. Danny."

This time Danny's head didn't lift, but he snorted softly. "What are you going to do?" he muttered, voice slurred. "Shoot me?" He giggled at his own joke.

Steve clenched his jaw, not amused. "I just need you to stay with me," he said. "Danny. That's an order. Danny."

But Danny didn't reply.

Desperate, Steve shook the cuffs again, putting his feet into it as he rocked the chairs as best he could. He could feel Danny's back against his, but it flopped heavily forward against the restraints once again.

In frustration, Steve yanked one last time, but there was still no answer. Closing his eyes, he searched for some self-control. Danny had been losing blood for twenty minutes now. Passing out wasn't unexpected. It wasn't a great sign, but it also wasn't dire news - yet.

It just meant that Steve needed to figure this out - and fast.

Opening his eyes, he looked to the office again. Malcolm was looking studiously at his hands, the gun propped up against the chair next to him. Blaine was pacing now, back and forth, nodding his head and rubbing one hand over his mouth.

At least Steve wasn't the only one feeling the pressure.

Collecting a breath, he glanced back toward Danny. He couldn't see the other man's face, but could make out the growing stain of blood on his shirt. The puddle on the floor was small, but still growing.

They had time, but Steve couldn't afford the illusion that they had a lot of it.

Looking back to the office, he twisted in his restraints again, searching for any weakness in the cuffs or the chair. All he needed was a little give, a little leeway. His fingers searched the chair with new intensity, looking for something - anything - to pick the lock. The pen was still a possibility, but moving with Danny in his current state would be hard.

Blaine had been smart. The chairs were solid and metal and frustratingly in one piece. Breaking out would be easier said than done and if had enough time, he didn't doubt he could pull it off.

He could feel Danny breathing at his back, rapid and shallow. All of his earlier consolations that it couldn't be that bad were hollow now. With Danny drifting in and out of consciousness, Steve had to assume that either infection was already starting to set in or that the blood loss was catching up with him. Or, worse, both might be true.

The bottom line was pretty simple, though. Even if Steve could get out in an hour or two, it wouldn't be fast enough. Danny was dying right behind him, and Steve was playing with his handcuffs.

They didn't have enough time for this. They didn't have enough time for much of anything. Danny needed medical assistance - and it was Steve's primary concern to make sure he got it.

There was a racket from the other room, and Steve's attention shifted to the office once again. Malcolm was still seated, but cowering a little now. The desk was cleared and Blaine had his hand against the wall. His face was red and seething and even from a distance, Steve could see that he was heaving.

Then Blaine looked up through the glass and caught Steve's eye. Their gazes held for a moment, and it was all Steve could do to keep from shuddering.

He wasn't the only one with his back to the wall. Blaine was getting pressure from the outside - and by the looks of it, a lot of pressure. This wasn't a win-win for Blaine. This was business, and if he had thought Blaine was dangerous with his money on the line, the notion that Blaine might be playing for higher stakes made the situation all the more precarious.

Blaine turned away, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Malcolm and the kid looked at him warily.

With a sigh, Steve glanced back over his shoulder at Danny. "I don't suppose you have any ideas, do you?" he asked.

As expected, there was no response.

Steve's stomach churned and he swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, don't worry," he said, with as much confidence as he could muster. "I've got this under control. I promise you that, Danno. I'll take care of it."

Looking around to the office to the warehouse again, he shook his head. "I'm just not sure how."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I promise, things are moving steadily toward a climax now, and you can expect some significant action on Steve's part in the coming chapters :) Also, there's a good chance that some of the background I came up with off the cuff for Danny's family will be debunked (possibly tonight!) but it's what I came up with while writing this. Thanks!

HOUR NINE

Danny was used to waking up to strange things.

As a kid, he'd had two older sisters, both of whom seemed to think he was their personal doll. When he was very young, sometimes he woke up to hair gel and makeup, as they played dress up for reasons that Danny still couldn't comprehend. His brother had been somewhat less purposefully obtrusive to Danny's sleep, but waking up to the sound of his coming and going from the room they shared was as commonplace as the knockdown fights his brother had with their parents when he got caught.

As a teenager, the guys on the baseball team had been prone to kidnapping him at night, sneaking him out for a night of partying and general rabble rousing. This sometimes led to falling asleep in class, which was just as easy to deal with, and Danny had a knack for opening his eyes with a frown and asking, "Could you maybe rephrase the question?"

It didn't much matter to Danny. Sleeping was just as necessary as being awake, and transitioning from one to the other was simple enough.

When he and Rachel had first been married, she had a weird habit of talking in her sleep. She tried to explain that she'd been that way for years, but Danny never did get used to waking up to the grocery list being recited or a strange rendition of _Happy Birthday_ being sung.

When Grace had been born, he'd become hyper aware at night, listening to hear her cry over the monitor for a midnight feeding or a diaper change at 3 AM. He always heard it first, and even though Rachel never thought he warmed the bottles enough and was too rough with the wet wipe, he always got up. He had to. Rachel was a heavy sleeper, and by the time she stumbled out of bed to do anything, Grace was screaming mad. Danny found it easier to pick her up and talk to her until handing her off to a groggy Rachel to get the real work of the night done.

As Grace got older, it was a weekly occurrence to be roused from sleep to find her big eyes blinking at him at the side of the bed as she requested nothing more than a glass of water and for Danny to double check her closet for the monster rats she heard about on the news.

Danny had concluded that they needed to stop watching local news and simply got better at waking up with a smile.

Even now, he woke up to Grace missing her favorite doll or his phone going off with a personal request from the governor. Danny liked sleep and was prone to it often, but it was a fleeting pleasure, and he was just as ready to see it come as he was to let it go.

So yeah, sometimes he woke up on the couch with an infomercial on TV to realized he'd fallen asleep there once again. Sometimes he came to with an open file on his lap and a can of beer in his hand, still remarkably upright and half full. Even more remarkable was how he was able to focus immediately, pick up reading the same sentence and taking another satisfying sip, as if no time had gone by at all.

All things considered, waking up to strange things was completely normal for Danny and he took some measure of pride in handling all situations with grace and total control.

Which was perhaps why this time it was so unsettling.

First of all, it was unusually hard to wake up. His awareness was distant, hinging on the fringes of his consciousness and no matter what he did, he had no power to rein it in. That was not only a discomforting thing, but damn well frustrating, too, because it meant he wasn't getting any of the benefits of sleep and didn't have any privileges of being awake, which was a complete lose-lose situation.

Second of all, he had no idea what was going on. Part of him thought that maybe he should, but the memory was just as distant as his fledgling awareness. All he knew was that there was some obscure pressing need to wake up and that he simply couldn't quite pull it off.

And third, he felt weird. Not just because he couldn't wake up and didn't know where he was, but because he felt weird. Weak and in pain. And uncomfortable.

None of it made sense.

Of course, a lot of things didn't make sense. It didn't make sense that Rachel had left him for Stan. It didn't make sense that the judge had said it was perfectly legal for Rachel to up and take his daughter across the freakin' world no matter how many custody rights Danny had. It didn't make any sense that he was living in Hawaii, with sun and sand and Steve McGarrett for a partner.

Steve.

This was Steve's fault.

Danny couldn't remember how, but he didn't have to remember. There were few things in his life that were utter constants: his love for Grace and the fact that most things were Steve's fault.

Steve did get him shot his first day on the job and drove him onto a boat during their first week of partnership.

And just like that, Danny remembered.

Coming to, he gasped, his body jolting as he lifted his head.

With awareness, however, came pain.

And lots of it.

He swore.

"Danny?" Steve asked, his voice tinged with something of concern. "You with me?"

Danny groaned, gritting his teeth as he breathed through the pain. "I'm handcuffed to a freakin' chair with you," he grunted. "Where else would I be?"

"You passed out there."

Danny swallowed, attempting to open his eyes without wanting to bite his tongue off. "Thanks for the brilliant observation," he said through a tight throat. "Just in case the coming in and out of awareness slipped my attention."

There was a small hesitation from Steve. "You had me worried."

Danny wet his lips, nodding his head as he blinked a few times. There were still traces of darkness at the edges of his vision and his mouth felt dry and cottony. "I had you worried?" he asked. "I didn't think you were capable of worry."

"Yeah, well," Steve said. "I just don't want you sleeping on the job."

That was actually a little funny. Danny snorted a laugh and almost cried from the spike of pain. "That's good," he said, sniffling a little as he worked to retain whatever composure he had left. He blinked a few more times, trying to fully regain his bearings. He shook his head, trying not to look at the blood on his side. Instead, he glanced to the office window where Malcolm was still seated and Blaine was on the phone. "How long was I out?"

The pause from Steve said enough. "Not too long," his partner lied.

Normally, Danny would call him on such an obvious falsehood, but at the moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth. Ignorance wasn't bliss, but for now, it might make the difference between feeling like crap and complete desperation.

Blowing out a breath, Danny rallied whatever strength he could find. The results were less than satisfactory, but he steeled himself. "So what have you been doing while I've been bleeding?"

"Working on our escape," Steve told him.

Danny nodded, trying to feign that he was impressed. "That's always good," he said. "But I've got to say, I'm not sure you've made much progress since we're still handcuffed and I'm still shot."

Steve seemed to motion toward the office with his head. "I've been watching Blaine," he said.

Danny squinted in that direction. "Anything worth noting?"

Steve sighed a little. "I think we're running out of time."

Danny snorted - leave it to Steve to report the totally obvious. "What was your first clue?"

Steve didn't laugh. He didn't even come up with a quip in reply. "I think maybe we should tell them what they want to know," he said.

For a second, Danny thought he'd maybe misheard.

Steve McGarrett, Navy SEAL and cop extraordinaire, the guy who was willing to live and die on his principles, wanted to give up? The same man who went for a swim to handle a hostage situation with a deranged SEAL wanted to tell Blaine what he wanted to know?

The man who had let Danny be beaten and shot in the name of a greater good, wanted to quit _now_?

"Danny?" Steve pressed. "You there?"

"Of course I'm here," Danny ground out. "I'm just - trying to figure out how you came to that conclusion."

Steve shifted and drew a breath. "Holding out is only useful as long as it keeps you safe. Blaine's already upped the stakes. We can't hold out while you bleed to death."

Part of Danny really agreed with that. He had no desire to day, especially not from a gunshot wound in a crappy warehouse on an island that was overrun with laidback vibes. The irony of that kind of death alone was more than he wanted to deal with. And the idea of moving here to be with Grace just to up and die on her not even a year in - well, it was not exactly what he'd had in mind.

And the pain made a compelling argument - a really compelling argument. He tried not to think about it, but it was impossible not to feel it. The pain was intense, spread through his entire body. How much was from the beating and how much was from the gunshot wound, Danny couldn't really tell anymore, but it all hurt with a persistent vigor. The hole in his side seemed to be in flames, and when he breathed too deeply or shifted just so, he could almost feel the bullet inside of him, digging in and threatening to destroy him from the inside out.

Danny was no hero. He had no delusions of grandeur. He didn't want to give up his life for the greater good, even if he knew that he might be called to do that someday. He was a simple man and the only thing he really wanted in life was to be a father to Grace. Being a cop, that helped him keep her safe - and if it helped other people, that was all for the better, but it was really all about her.

But it was kind of a moot point. Danny was already bound and beaten and shot. If Steve told Blaine now, then it would all be for nothing. Most people had trouble shooting someone for the first time. He knew from experience that it got easier the more you did it. Blaine held out for a few hours before firing his gun once; he didn't want to risk giving him another chance to give it a try.

Swallowing, Danny shook his head. "No," Danny said, between gasps. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to swear, sucking in a rallying breath. "I'm not taking a bullet in vain, okay? If it was worth getting us to this point, then we're seeing it through."

"We're running out of time," Steve said, his own voice strained. It was an unusual timbre.

Danny had seen Steve in some tough situations before, but he had never seen him quite this desperate.

Danny laughed, almost bitterly. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe through the pain. He was keenly aware of the passage of time with each drop of blood that flowed from his body. "You think I don't know that?"

"My primary goal is to get us out of here alive," Steve returned curtly. The vulnerability seemed to fade, almost as if it had been forcibly pushed aside. In its place was cold logic. "If you're losing blood at the rate you're saying, then telling him is our only option."

Danny opened his eyes again, letting his head loll backward a little bit. "So, what, he can off us both?" he asked. He understood Steve's point of view - and it almost made him feel better to know that not only was his partner really and truly human but that he would give up the end game for Danny's benefit - but understanding it didn't make it right. He collected a shaky breath. "Shooting me was a desperate move. He's feeling cornered. The only chance of survival we have left is to ride it out and hope Chin and Kono get here soon."

"That's stupid," Steve said.

Danny had to laugh again, but it was short, breathless. "Isn't that my line?"

"Well, isn't it my job to be stupid?"

Danny perked up a bit at that. He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Are you admitting that most of your plans are stupid?"

"No," Steve replied, wrists twisting in vain again. "I'm saying that usually I'm the one with the plan that involves risking life and limb while you're the one in the passenger seat ranting."

That was true, and Danny had no desire to deny it. And really, there was a lot about this situation that pissed him off. From the beating to the handcuffs to the general lack of respect to the hole in his side which was inconveniently leaking blood, it all sucked.

But - and this was a big but - Danny knew there were some things worth dying for. This was where being partners really came back to bite him in the ass, because if he was going to call Steve out for not backing him, then Danny couldn't pull the same punches when the situation was reversed. Steve had asked Danny to trust him, and that was what Danny had to do. Whether or not Steve's informant was worth this, Danny couldn't be sure, but Steve was sticking both their lives on the line for it, and Danny couldn't afford to doubt Steve now.

It was about trust. Trusting that Steve had his reasons for protecting the intel. Trusting that Steve was doing everything he could to get them out of there alive. Trust was the make it or break it point of any partnership, and Danny wasn't about to forfeit it now.

More than that - and it pissed Danny off just to admit it - there was logic to consider here. Danny had been expendable since the second he'd walked into the warehouse. Now that he was a bleeding mess, his value had just gone down considerably. The chances of him walking out of here alive were getting less and less, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it except hope that Steve could pull a freakin' miracle out of his bag of tricks.

And the only way Steve could do that was if he was alive. The only way he was going to stay alive was if he stayed valuable. The moment he told Blaine what he wanted to know, Steve was a goner, even more than Danny already was.

Danny wanted to get out of this mess alive, but not at the expense of signing his partner's death warrant.

Danny shook his head again, grimly through the pain. "I'll rant later, like when you're waiting on me hand and foot in the hospital," he said.

"Aren't we missing a few key steps there?" Steve asked quizzically.

Closing his eyes, Danny let his head drop forward again, feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him. "You mean the part where Blaine comes back and starts throwing a hissy fit? Or maybe the part where Chin and Kono make their dramatic arrival?" He shook his head, looking up again wearily at the warehouse around him. "As fun as both of those sound, I think I'd prefer to just pass out and wake up when there are things like pain medication on hand. Preferably, the good stuff."

"You do know that we have government health insurance, right?" Steve asked dryly.

Danny groaned. "You're going to torture me now? When I've got a hole in my side? Really?"

Steve shrugged in what Danny could only presume was an apologetic gesture. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up too high."

Danny grunted at that. "Tell you what, as long as you get us out of this thing alive, I'll be happy."

"You'll be happy?" Steve asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Danny had to reconsider that. "Well, I won't put in for an automatic transfer back to Jersey," he conceded.

Steve laughed a little. "Fair enough," he agreed.

Swallowing, Danny steeled himself once again. "But that means you say nothing, you got that?" he asked pointedly, adding as much of his no-nonsense inflection as he could.

Steve drew a sharp breath. "Danny-"

But Danny shook his head, because if he was going to bleed to death, he was going to do it on his terms. No matter what. "I'm not asking you to commit treason or even give up your ridiculous interrogation methods," Danny said with force. "Just don't tell him what he wants to know, or we're both screwed, and that'll piss me off. You don't want to piss of the guy who's bleeding, do you?"

Danny could only hope that Steve would concede that point because, for starters, Danny was still handcuffed to a chair, so it wasn't like he could do much about it. More than that, Steve had ridiculous training and, even though Danny would never admit it and continued to resent it, he was pretty sure that if Steve wanted to, he could probably take Danny down with one hand if he were really so inclined. And really, even if Danny were looking to fight Steve for it, he was currently bleeding. Copiously. Which did not fare well for his ability to make Steve do anything.

Especially since Steve rarely did anything Danny told him to do because Steve was a psycho hard ass like that, at least when he wanted to be, which, as far as Danny could tell, was about 96 percent of the time.

The other four percent he was either smiling because he got laid or he was trying to convince Danny to like Hawaii.

"Fine," Steve said finally, his words a little stiff. "But you have to promise me something in return."

Danny made a face. "What, the blood isn't enough for you?"

"You hold on, okay?" he said. "I know it probably hurts like hell and you're getting tired, but as long as you're awake, this deal holds. The second you pass out, all bets are off."

The entire fact that Steve was negotiating sort of irked Danny, though part of that was probably the blood loss taking its toll. "Fine, fine," he snapped. "Figures that you would make me stay awake. As if I have been sufficiently tortured enough for one day."

"It hasn't even been a day yet," Steve replied.

The clarification was not helpful. Danny rolled his eyes. "You really are impossible, aren't you?"

"I'm just saying," Steve said, shrugging a little.

"Yeah, well, _don't_," Danny muttered. "Consider it practice for when Blaine gets back with his little lackey." He looked up, squinting toward the office. He could still barely make out Blaine's figure talking animatedly to Malcolm. "What do you think they're talking about in there anyway?"

Steve renewed his struggles with the handcuffs. "Whatever it is, it doesn't look friendly."

"Yeah, since Blaine struck me as such a friendly guy," Danny quipped. He shifted a little, trying not to wince at the pain. "Maybe another partner? Did he have anyone else who was implicated in the crimes?"

"No one else on the inside," Steve said, jerking his shoulders upward. The jostling made Danny swallow hard against bile, but he didn't say anything. "But I always figured he had an outside backer, someone with money."

That made sense. "So maybe Blaine's not the only one who wants to know who gave him up," he said. He paused, wetting his lips and taking a moment to breath through the throbbing. "Is it possible, what he said? That the informant snagged some for himself?"

Steve was suspiciously quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head. "No," he said flatly.

Danny waited for more. "No? Just like that?" he asked. "So where's Blaine's missing money?"

"It's not important," Steve said decidedly.

Danny groaned again, letting his head drop back a little. "I'm just bleeding to death, but it's not important."

"As long as Blaine doesn't have the money, it doesn't matter where it is," Steve reiterated.

There was some sense to that, and since Danny seemed to be dying on this sword slowly but surely, he liked to think that it was a principle worth his life.

Still, it would be nice to know. Just in case he really didn't make it through this, he would like to slip into oblivion with the satisfaction of knowing who his blood paid to keep safe.

Steve rattled him again. "Hey, remember what I said about staying awake?"

Danny's face scrunched up and he tried to hold back the pain in his side. "You're really going to be a pain in the ass about this, aren't you?"

Steve twisted his arms and shrugged a little. "It's worked for me so far," he said.

Danny had to snort, almost laughing. "Yeah, it's worked _so _well."

Steve shook his head. "More or less," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Danny nodded drowsily. "More or less," he repeated. "You get the more and I seem to be stuck with the less."

"Yeah, well, not for much longer," Steve said resolutely. "I promise."

Steve meant it. But Steve always meant it. So far, his partner's persistence had always been enough. Part of Danny wanted to believe it always would be, but the pain in his side was a powerful counter-argument.

Grimly, he looked down, noting the blood and the puddle on the floor.

Today really was not his day. In fact, in all the horrible days since he'd moved to Hawaii, this probably was the worst. Because he hated sun and sand, but he hated bleeding even more. To think, he'd actually rather be surfing.

Hell, he'd rather watch Grace surfing.

His brow furrowed at the thought, and he shook his head, looking up from the pool, eyes trailing along the warehouse floor.

This was worse than he thought, if watching Grace in a bikini swimming near sharks while getting a case of skin cancer looked appealing.

Suddenly, the chair jostled, sending a fresh wave of pain down his side. His stomach roiled with it, and he had to swallow hard against impending nausea. When he finally got it under control, he hissed. "What the hell are you doing back there?"

"Trying to keep you awake," came Steve's reply.

Danny grunted of pain, shifting in vain to find a more comfortable position. "By torturing me?"

"You need to stay awake," Steve said, ever persistent in his pursuit to not only inflict pain but total frustration as well. The son of a bitch didn't even have the decency to sound _sorry_.

"That would be easier to do if I wasn't about ready to pass out from the pain each time you decide to rattle your hands back there," Danny snapped back. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily through the fire in his side.

"You were drifting," Steve said.

Danny's teeth gritted and he opened his eyes. "I was thinking," he countered angrily. "I was _thinking_ and trying to distract myself from the fact that _I've been shot_ and that I'm _handcuffed to a chair_. Is that so wrong?"

"Less thinking, more talking," Steve said.

Danny snorted. "Can I get that in writing, please?"

"Sure, no problem," Steve shot back sarcastically. "Let me just get my pen-"

"Well, we can always use my _blood_," Danny pointed out.

"Are you done whining yet?"

Danny balked a little. "Are you done belittling my pain?"

"I never belittled your pain."

"You shook me so as to induce more pain in my side," Danny reminded him hotly. "I think that's belittlement, don't you?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

Danny lifted his chin, a little indignant. If he was acting like a child, he didn't actually care. "That would be a first."

"You're awake, aren't you?" Steve quipped back.

Just like that, Danny's hatred of his partner reached a new level. The asshole was getting cheeky at Danny's expense. Part of him wanted to die just to prove him wrong.

The thought made him feel queasy, and Danny's angered was tempered by the reality. Wishing for death while bleeding during a hostage situation might not be the smartest way to go.

Still, Steve's attitude sucked. "I think I'd rather be passed out," Danny muttered. Because it did sound kind of nice. To just sleep through the pain. Let Steve do his superhero bit, let Blaine and Malcolm pull their last punches and let Chin and Kono storm in to save the day. Danny didn't need to see it. He didn't need to see any of it: not the posturing, not the threats, not the pool of his own blood collecting on the floor.

Hell, he could do without the inevitable ambulance ride and hospital stay. And the surgery - he didn't even want to think about the surgery and all that would go into that. The hospital gown and the wires and he'd probably need a damn catheter and if he was going to pee in a bag, then unconsciousness was definitely the way to go.

Sleep, nice and warm and pain free. He wouldn't have to feel the bullet lodged uncomfortably in his side. He wouldn't have to feel the handcuffs digging into his wrist. He wouldn't have to feel the throbbing in his swollen eye. He wouldn't have to feel _anything_...

He was assaulted with a new wave of pain as his body jerked again, totally against his will. It caught him by surprise, and the pain was even worse, returning with a vigor that had Danny's vision black around the edges.

"Hey," Steve was saying. "I told you to _stay awake_. Damn it, Danny. Stay _awake_."

It was an order - which wasn't so surprising - but Danny heard the plea in there. Steve wasn't just trying to torture him. Steve really was trying to save his life.

That made it easier to accept, but not any easier to endure.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," he muttered, although he couldn't find the energy to life his head. The thought of movement made his stomach turn and the thought of retching all over himself while handcuffed and shot was somewhat less than appealing.

Steve seemed to relax, but only marginally. Danny could feel his muscles tight with tension as his back. "You're still on the job," Steve reminded him, and his voice made an attempt at being lighter. "I need you on your game."

"Check that," Danny said with as much vigor as he could muster. "I'm totally, one hundred percent on my game." He paused, panting. "You know, besides the concussion and the blood loss."

"I've had worse," Steve told him.

Danny laughed a little. "Of course you have," he said, shaking his head. Reality became a little clearer and he took a few more deep breaths to control the pain and nausea. "So tell, me what's the plan now?"

That seemed to be the right question. Steve's back loosened a little and his voice lifted sincerely with new focus. "I've been working on the cuffs," he reported.

Danny closed his eyes, snorting a giggle. "And how's that working for you."

"I think if I could just put enough pressure on the latch, I could have something to work with," Steve said. "But it's hard to get the right leverage."

Danny opened his eyes again and lifted his head to look around blearily. "Go figure," he said. "Who would have thought that the inventor of handcuffs would want to discourage people from breaking out of them?"

It was a rather brilliant rhetorical question, especially given Danny's current state.

Steve didn't seem to acknowledge his brilliance. "Every pair has its weakness," he reiterated.

Danny sighed, letting his head roll back a little. "Why don't you just break your thumbs, Superman? Isn't that what a bad-ass Navy SEAL would do?"

Steve's voice was clipped. "I'd have no way to defend us with broken thumbs," he said. "Beside, that's no guarantee."

Danny snorted. "As if that's stopped you before."

Steve didn't seem to notice. "I'm going to keep working at it and see what angles I can use," he said. "But there's also action in the office. I think Blaine's getting ready to make a move."

For many reasons, that didn't sound like good news to Danny. The last time Blaine had decided to do something dramatic, Danny had ended up with a hole in his side. Danny didn't like holes in his side and he didn't like dramatic turns of events. He liked to keep things simple, by the book.

Of course, he wasn't entirely sure what a by the book hostage situation would look like, at least not for the hostage or the hostage taker. He could quote procedure for someone on the outside, but for some reason the police code didn't get very specific about what to do when you found yourself handcuffed to your partner in a warehouse with a bleeding gunshot wound and a psycho criminal who wanted answers you didn't have but your partner did have.

And that didn't even begin to cover how to handle making decisions while compromised with a concussion and a gunshot wound.

Right then, he really missed New Jersey.

Something shook him and the pain brought him back suddenly.

Danny straightened, blinking his eyes rapidly to fend off the spots as he tried to focus on the approaching figures.

It wasn't hard to figure out that it was Blaine and Malcolm, but if Danny were honest, that was mostly because there was no one else that it was likely to be.

Still, Danny wasn't one to put on airs, but keeping up the illusion that he wasn't about ready to pass out or hurl probably would work in their favor.

They came close and stopped short, Malcolm clutching his gun a little desperately. Blaine was smiling. "Well, gentlemen," Blaine said with a genteel tone. "How are we faring?"

Danny mustered something resembling a smile and a sneer. "Fantastic," he muttered.

Behind him, Steve was stiff, head held high. "This isn't going to get you anywhere," he said. Danny had to give him credit; despite the doubts his partner had expressed, he showed no signs of weakness. This was the plan. For better and for worse, this was the plan, and if it was worth dying for, it was worth dying for.

There was a flicker of disgust on Blaine's face, and Danny took some pleasure in the fact that he wasn't the only one who didn't particularly like the way the proceedings were going.

Blaine's smile turned cold. "I'm afraid that's not quite true," he said. "I have many places to go and you are only one avenue to get there."

"Only one?" Danny couldn't help but ask. "Next time, I vote you take another one. It might be less messy."

Blaine checked his watch, regarding him blandly. "The mess is unfortunate, but sometimes necessary."

"You don't want to add murder to your list of crimes," Steve said. "Trust me."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Trust you? Now that's cute, McGarrett. And you can prevent the blight on my record and your partner's untimely demise if you just tell me what you know."

"There's nothing to tell," Steve said forcefully, and Danny could feel the tension mounting in his partner's shoulders.

Blaine shrugged. "Then there's nothing to be done for this situation," he said.

Steve cursed, jarring the chair. Danny's vision went hazy with a sudden burst of pain.

"Watch them, please, Malcolm," Blaine said, as if they were about to go somewhere or try to do something besides sit there and bleed. "Get me if McGarrett feels like playing the game after all."

Malcolm's eyes went wide, and he shook his head imperceptibly.

Blaine's humor faded and he stepped closer to the younger man. "You are paid to follow orders," he said, low and deadly.

Malcolm swallowed. "You didn't say anything about anyone getting shot," he hissed back, and his tone was more afraid than angry.

Blaine's stance didn't waver, and even though the effect seemed to terrify the kid, it really just made Danny want to laugh. "You knew I wasn't a Boy Scout," he said. "Your cut isn't pocket change, and if you would like me to keep my gun where it is, I would strongly suggest you support me on this new part of the plan."

The threat wasn't idle, and Danny had the hole in his side to prove it. Malcolm considered his options before nodding his assent, eyes down and jaw quivering. Danny was too busy thinking about what merit badge could be earned by shooting innocent cops to care too much.

Blaine nodded. "Good," he said shortly. Then he looked purposefully back at Steve, which was just as well, because Danny probably would have stuck his tongue out at him on sheer principle alone. "I'm no medic, but I can read a wound as well as you can. Your partner has a few hours to bleed. That's some time for you to think while he suffers. You can hedge your bets on how long he'll make it before it's just too late, but that's entirely up to you."

Danny snorted wetly, as if the assessment somehow made things any better or worse. He could see the blood and he could feel it leaving his body and worse, he could feel air actually flowing through a hole in his side, so he was pretty sure that he already knew that he was pretty well screwed at this point.

So it wasn't the grim prognosis that really irked him, but the fact that he was sitting right there bleeding and no one had the courtesy to even address him. "Thanks for that," he said. "I really love it when people talk about me when I'm sitting right here. Gunshot or no gunshot, I'm _still here_, bleeding to death, thank you very much, so if you could just acknowledge my presence, I think I'd feel much better!"

Blaine gave a smile that was probably supposed to placate it him, but really just pissed him off. "My apologies, Detective Williams," he said. "But I've taken everything from you that I can possibly want. My business with you is done. Your life is nothing more than a timepiece for me now."

Insult to injury. Literally. And they both just _hurt. _"Oh, what, so you shoot me and now you want to deny me my dignity?"

"Frankly, Detective," Blaine said coolly. "I don't give a damn about your dignity. I want answers, and if McGarrett doesn't give them to me, I will take you and your dignity and chop you up into small pieces and dump them all off the coast and let the sharks take care of it for me. Now, if you don't mind, this unseemly business is leaving me parched and I do have other business to attend to." He nodded with a trite air of cordiality. "Gentlemen."

It was a polished cue to exit, and common sense would dictate that now, maybe even more than before, was a good time to just shut the hell up.

But really, at this point, what did Danny have to lose? He was already losing blood and he already had a nice hole in his side. His shirt was ruined and so was the tie and he'd probably have to get rid of the pants and the belt, too. Not to mention the boxers and the undershirt. He might get to keep his socks and his beloved shoes, which was a small feat, since he wasn't sure that he'd find replacements anyplace else on this craphole of an island.

So common sense? Could take a long walk of a short pier because he'd been _shot_ and he was _bleeding_ and he was _handcuffed to a chair_ and that was about all the good times he could handle for one day.

Therefore, when the rant came to mind, Danny didn't fight it, but just let it come. "Sharks? Really? Sharks? Can't we just work out something a little less _Animal Planet_? Isn't dumping my body in a shallow grave sufficient? Maybe a volcano? I mean, even acid. Find a vat, dump me in. It's just as effective and won't encourage the top of the food chain to overpopulate this hell hole!"

Blaine didn't listen to him.

Which seemed pretty normal. It wasn't like anyone ever listened to him. Danny was well versed in the art of talking loudly and passionately and having no one give a damn.

Though, in truth, part of him had hoped that the blood gushing from his side might lend him a little credibility, all things considered.

And even if it wasn't gushing, it might as well have been, because he felt like crap.

Malcolm was looking at him, a little green around the gills himself.

Danny glared back. The kid's reluctant partner routine had scored him minimal sympathy with Danny earlier, but now that there was a significant amount of bloodshed, Danny was fresh out of compassion for accomplices to his would-be murder. "What?" he asked pointedly. "You want to insult me, too?"

"Take it easy," Steve said from behind him.

Danny couldn't see his face, but his voice sounded funny. Too restrained. Like he was trying to keep himself under control.

Which was silly, of course, because this was Steve McGarrett. The man who didn't believe in self-control when the endgame was in sight. If only the bad guys would let Steve drive right now, then they'd all see how much of a freak Steve really was.

The thought made him laugh.

"Danny?" Steve asked, voice spiked with concern. "You okay over there?"

Danny laughed again, a short, bark. "I'm peachy, what do you think?" he sniped.

"You staying with me here?" he prodded.

Danny rolled his eyes, dropping his head back in the only gesture of melodrama he was still able to complete. "Seriously, I'm _still _handcuffed to a chair," he said. "As much as I'd like to, I still don't have anywhere else to go."

"I mean mentally," Steve amended, shifting in his bonds. "You're sounding a little stressed."

Danny couldn't have controlled the laugh of incredulity, even if he wanted to. Which, for the record, he did not. Not now. Not ever as far as he was concerned. "Stressed," he repeated. "And why do you think I may be a little stressed? The handcuffs? The idiots with guns? Or the hole in my side? Or the copious blood leaving my body?"

"I was sort of thinking all of it," Steve admitted. He paused, seeming to swallow. "Seriously. I need you to tell me how you are."

Seriously. Steve was often serious, but usually that seriousness was about how to catch a bad guy or how to almost get killed but not quite. But seriously, Steve wanted to know how he was.

Danny closed his eyes and let himself breathe for a moment, trying to regain some semblance of control. His side was throbbing still, almost pulsating in time with the pounding in his head. He was most definitely concussed and if the clammy hands and fluttery heartbeat were any indication, he was probably in shock now, too.

"Danny?" Steve's voice came again. Then, he jostled them both. "_Danny_."

Danny jerked, pulling his head up and blinking rapidly. "I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly.

"Now is not the time to lie to me," Steve said.

It made him laugh - he really couldn't help it. "So you're saying there is a time to lie to you?"

"Danny," Steve said, almost growling now. "Keep it together. Tell me how you are."

There was concern there, and Danny knew that, he really did. And that meant something to him. It was nice to know that when the crap really hit the fan, Steve McGarrett actually did worry about something. Of course, such concern didn't do him much good in preventing such things, but there was some consolation in knowing that Steve was at least aware of how bad things really were.

Because it was a dumb question, and they both knew it. Because they also both knew that Danny was losing blood and that they were still handcuffed with no way out and Danny could try to stay awake all he wanted, but sooner or later, it wasn't going to be enough.

The thought made Danny's throat constrict. He wouldn't have a choice in it. No positive vibes, no clinging to the idea of Grace - none of it would make a difference when his blood volume got too low and he'd just pass out.

Then, whatever happened, happened, and Danny wouldn't know one way or the other.

That sucked, that sucked a lot, and it sort of made Danny want to cry.

In a manly way, of course, because he was a manly kind of guy, but damn it, he wanted to cry. Because it hurt and he was tired and he wanted to see Grace again. He really, really did.

Steve shook them again. "Danny, come _on_," he implored now. "You have to stay with me. That was part of the deal, remember?"

Danny blinked, noticing for the first time just how dim the world was around the edges. It was getting hard to see Malcolm anymore. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open at all.

"Say something," Steve said. "Anything. Maybe about New Jersey. Or why you hate Hawaii so much."

It was tempting. An open invitation to rant? Was hard to pass up.

But he couldn't remember much about New Jersey. He could remember even less about Hawaii and why he hated it.

It was even a little hard to remember why they were here or how they thought they might get out.

But he remembered Grace. He remembered Gracie - the smell of her shampoo, the curve of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

He loved her. He loved her so freakin' much.

Somewhere, Steve was swearing, and Danny remembered his partner.

Remembered the day they met, getting shot outside a gunrunner's house. Remembered screaming on the roof of a building and ranting in a car.

"I was right, you know," Danny said, and his own voice would have surprised him, if he were sure it was his at all.

"Yeah?" Steve asked, almost hopeful. "About what?"

Danny blinked, slower now, cocking his head while he tried to make sense of the fuzzy shapes in the warehouse. "About everything," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? About what?" Steve asked, and if he was trying to sound annoyed, he was failing. "For scratching the car up when you drove in front of a plane?"

Funny, Danny didn't really remember it that way. "You apologize," he said, trying to make his mouth work. "When you get someone shot, you apologize."

Steve swore again. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry, Danny. Okay? I'm sorry, and you can ream me out when we get out of here, I promise, okay? I promise."

He hadn't been looking for an apology, though. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. "The plan was good," he murmured. "Nothing you could do."

"It's not over yet," Steve said and he pulled again at the restraints. "It's not over yet."

It felt over. Danny's body felt almost numb now, a pervasive cold, long and leaching like a New Jersey winter.

"I'm sorry," Danny said again, because when you got someone shot, you apologized. When you had their back, you had it until the end, but Danny couldn't hold out for the end. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He could move cross country for his daughter, he could tolerate Steve's antics in a bust, but he couldn't hold on long enough to finish the job.

Danny had quit a lot of things in his life, so he wasn't sure why this one bothered him so much.

But it did. Leaving Steve here. Leaving Grace.

He swallowed with effort, but couldn't find the energy to lift his head. "Tell Grace," he said, trying to know what to say. "Tell Grace."

"You can tell her yourself," Steve replied immediately. "You hear me, Danny? You can tell her yourself. Father-daughter commiseration. Hell, I'll pay for another weekend with the dolphins if it helps."

It was a nice idea, but it didn't help.

Nothing helped.

Because Danny was bleeding and Danny was tired and Danny couldn't lift his head and he couldn't open his eyes and he was going to leave Steve without any options or backup and he was going to leave Grace with nothing but a Step Stan where there should be a father.

Danny took a ragged breath, and for a second the pain eclipsed his awareness, but it fled faster than before, retreating deeper into his mind.

Promises and pledges and rants and raves and, in the end, none of it mattered. Danny could move cross country and he could ride shotgun to Steve's escapades but sometimes the choice wasn't his to make.

Sometimes it wasn't a choice at all.

And the blackness came, and Danny had nothing left to fight it as it consumed him whole.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: And now, plot! Action! Hopefully the plot points make sense and that the action seems worth the wait :) Thanks!

HOUR TEN

Steve had been on enough dangerous missions in his life to know that sometimes things went wrong.

Minor complications were perfectly normal. Expected, in fact. Plans were never set in stone, but working guidelines to help get things done.

However, there was a major difference between minor hiccups and the whole damn thing falling apart.

Case in point, getting caught off guard by Blaine and his would-be goon was inconvenient. A little embarrassing, even. Getting knocked out and handcuffed, though, could arguably happen to anyone. With enough high profile cases, they were going to get roughed up from time to time, and sometimes they'd probably even come out on the losing end of such altercations.

Steve was willing to accept that and had made his peace with it a long time ago.

However, as poorly as this case had started off, it was showing zero sign of improving anytime soon. If getting knocked out was acceptable in the grander scheme of things, getting Danny shot was most definitely not.

And now, to make things even worse, Blaine was gone, Malcolm looked sick, and Danny was unconscious.

Oh, and as if that hadn't been enough, Danny's last words to him before passing out?

_Tell Grace_.

What, Steve wasn't sure, but he was confident that the specifics didn't matter. Steve knew a goodbye when he heard one. Danny wasn't the sentimental type and even if he was irrationally prone to hysteria, he wasn't one to quit when it counted. If Danny was passing out with thoughts of his daughter on his mind, then things were bad.

Check that, things were really bad. Things were falling apart and Steve was still handcuffed to a damn chair unable to do _anything_.

Except sit and wait.

Wait for Blaine to come back. Wait for Malcolm to get too twitchy with his trigger finger. Wait for Chin and Kono to find them.

Wait for Danny to die.

There were many problems with all that. The least of which was the fact that waiting? Was not Steve's strength.

Steve was a man of action.

Steve didn't _wait_. Steve acted.

When Danny wanted to get a warrant, Steve found a reason to go in anyway. When Danny wanted to call for backup, Steve reasoned that Danny was the backup. When Danny wanted to take the time to question a suspect properly, Steve figured dangling them off a roof or dumping them in a shark cage would get the job done that much faster and that much more effectively.

Steve was not a patient man. So he didn't want to wait for Blaine or Malcolm or even Chin or Kono. And he certainly wasn't going to wait for Danny to bleed out right behind him.

Danny's weight was leaned forward, and even if Steve couldn't get a good look at his partner, he could see the pool of blood on the floor. It was bigger than before. Not big enough to kill him - yet. But getting closer.

Danny wouldn't be waking up again - not without help.

Help Steve couldn't give while he was handcuffed to a chair.

Hissing in frustration, he yanked hard at the cuffs, twisting and maneuvering to see what could happen. The effort drew fresh blood and left him breathless. He didn't doubt he could get out of the cuffs, but Danny's caustic voice was still in his head. And maybe Danny was right about this much: it really wasn't the fast plan of attack.

Breaking handcuffs took time, which Steve didn't have. The fastest way to get out of a pair of cuffs was to have someone unlock them.

Steve looked up. Malcolm was still standing there. The kid looked worse than before, and it was clear that the sight of the blood was more than Malcolm had bargained for. The kid was the decidedly weak link in all of this. He was undoubtedly necessary - although Steve had yet to figure out how he was drawn up in all of this and why he'd bought the warehouse to begin with - but being involved with the plan didn't make him an equal player in the plan. These kinds of plans required full commitment.

Blaine had thought through a lot of the details, but Steve wondered if he'd thought through Malcolm's role. Maybe the kid had inserted himself into the situation of his own accord and Blaine had no choice. Maybe a third party had insisted upon Malcolm's presence for some reason. Maybe Blaine planned on killing Malcolm along with the rest of them. But Blaine had obviously counted on Malcolm following orders until the proper time.

To the kid's credit (or discredit, really, Steve wasn't sure which at this point), he had followed orders so far. But Steve knew that look on his face. Malcolm wanted out.

Steve could use that. He and Danny had been working the kid up all day.

More than that, Blaine had other business to attend to. There was no way Blaine would be taking a social visit at a time like this - not with time running out on getting answers like it was. Blaine was being pressed by the third party Steve wasn't sure about just yet - and it had forced him to leave Malcolm in a position of authority.

Malcolm had the gun, but the grim, whitewashed look on his face hardly suggested authority.

Blaine wouldn't unlock the cuffs, but Blaine didn't have to. All Steve needed was Malcolm.

He looked up, staring at Malcolm until the kid met his eyes.

The gaze settled for just a moment, before skittering away. The kid shifted uneasily.

Steve did not waver; couldn't let himself waver as he felt the labored breathing from his partner. "If he dies," Steve warned, letting his voice carry the warning hard, "you're going down for murder."

Malcolm flinched, looking up. "I didn't shoot him."

It was a desperately naive defense, and they both knew it. In other circumstances, he would pity Malcolm. Probably even lobby the state to go light in sentencing. This sort of kid could be rehabilitated and put back onto the straight and narrow.

But Malcolm's would-be innocence was somehow not very compelling with Danny slumped unconscious at his back, the pool of blood still growing on the floor.

"You helped orchestrate the kidnapping and have held us hostage," Steve said. He kept his voice clear, enunciating the words so Malcolm wouldn't miss their true meaning. "At best, you'll get off as an accessory, but you're dealing with the governor's handpicked team here. The state will push for a minimum of voluntary manslaughter for refusing to provide any kind of treatment."

The legalities weren't as certain as Steve sounded, but Steve didn't care what they charged the kid with. He only cared that Malcolm believed he'd be on the hook for all of this. And, truthfully, if Danny did die, any notion of leniency would evaporate in Steve's mind. If this kid's negligence and fear got Danny killed, Steve would push to throw the book at Malcolm as hard as possible - regardless of how green the kid was in all of this. First time criminal or not, Steve wasn't about to play around with Danny's life and he wasn't about to waste sympathy on someone who did.

Malcolm swallowed a little, fidgeting nervously. He shook his head. "None of this was my idea."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "So that makes watching an innocent man die okay?"

"He doesn't have to die," Malcolm said quickly. "Just tell me the name and this can be over."

Steve laughed, looking at the ceiling for a moment in sheer incredulity. As if it had ever been that simple. If it had, Steve wouldn't have held out this long. If he had truly believed that he could save Danny's life by giving up the source, then he would have at least tried it.

But Blaine didn't just want the information. He wanted a clean getaway. Steve and Danny were loose ends. If Malcolm was laboring under any other notion, then the kid was more naive than Steve had previously thought.

Lowering his head, his smile faded and he narrowed his gaze on Malcolm once again, with a deadly calm. "Do you really think that Blaine is going to let us go?"

The statement made Malcolm flinch again, his forehead furrowing as he looked away. It was a simple question, and no matter how hard Malcolm tried to deny it, they both knew the answer. Steve was able to admit that, but Malcolm was clinging desperately to another fantasy.

It was a fleeting hope, though. Malcolm wasn't stupid and even if the kid tried not to look at Steve, tried not to look at Danny, tried not to look at the blood on the floor, it was obvious that he knew the truth all the same.

Steve saw the weakness and did not hesitate to exploit it. Now was not the time to play nice. "He'll kill Danny and he'll kill me. That's double murder. When the authorities catch you - and I promise, they will catch you - you'll get life in prison. No parole." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "You're how old? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? That's only about seventy-five years behind bars."

Malcolm took a shuddering breath and when he looked at Steve again, his eyes were wet. "None of this was my idea," he insisted again, a little more desperate this time.

"Then whose was it?" Steve demanded. "Blaine? Someone else?"

Malcolm looked a little surprised. "Blaine's a middle man," he said finally. "I never even met him before today."

"You bought the warehouse from him," Steve said pointedly.

"Only in name," Malcolm defended. "None of it was my money."

"Still your name on the lease," Steve said.

Malcolm took another breath, swallowing it back heavily. "I didn't have a choice."

"Oh, and we did?" Steve shot back. "You kidnapped us and stood by while Blaine did whatever he wanted. What do you think could possibly make that okay?"

Malcolm blinked rapidly. "My mother was going to default on her mortgage," he said. "We didn't have any money left. She took this deal with this private investor who said he could pay it all off for some small services in return. It sounded funny but I didn't know what else to do, so I told her I'd do the services and she could have them pay off her debt. For a while it was just my name on a lease, but then I got a call saying they'd undo everything and my mom would get sent to jail. That I was already a part of this and I had to finish it. So I was going to finish it, be done, and forget it ever happened. It was just an easy thing, I was told. Nothing about beating and killing. I swear."

It was a lot to process, but Steve focused on the salient parts. "Who?" he asked. "Who set this up?"

Malcolm was shaking now, a single tear streaking down his face. He shook his head, sniffling. "Some military guy. Which is why I thought it had to be legit. I mean-"

Steve went cold, his heart thudding in his chest. There were countless servicemen. More than Steve would ever know or even recognize. But in a case that had been as interrelated as this one, Steve had a bad feeling. "What was his name?" he interrupted.

Malcolm blinked, shrugging. "A Lieutenant Blakely," he said. "He said he was Navy and had the uniform and everything and I thought it had to be okay."

Malcolm's naivete was one issue, but not the important one. Lieutenant Blakely. Steve knew the name. Knew it well because it'd been in the back of his mind the entire time. Because Lieutenant Christopher Blakely had been the informant from the very beginning.

Steve had thought it good fortune when Blakely had told him about Blaine's skimming. He had thought him a real hero for coming forward, even with the risk of retribution from Blaine's suppliers. That was why he'd protected Blakely all this time.

But now Steve saw it in a new light. Blakely had informed on Blaine to keep a cut of the money without having to worry about ongoing business risks. Blaine wanted to keep expanding, but Blakely wanted to keep it simple. He wasn't afraid of retribution; he was afraid of going down with Blaine if the truth came out.

So why had Blaine not turned on Blakely to begin with?

Because there was still some honor among thieves, especially loyal business partners. Blaine still had something of a stash or he never would have been able to buy his way out of prison - he was only missing _some_ of it. Who had watched it for him?

Blakely. And while Blaine had many attributes, overestimating his own intelligence was chief on his list of faults. Just like he thought Malcolm was easily controlled, he had never questioned that Blakely would manage his money just fine, even orchestrating the sale of the warehouse to an innocent third party to further liquidate some assets and cover their trail, never suspecting that he'd been the one to turn on him.

And the warehouse - it was a ploy. By forcing Malcolm to buy it at an inflated price, they had a fall guy and inflated assets to help hide their real bounty.

As for that bounty, that the missing money was probably stashed away in some account Blakely had opened without his knowledge.

With Blaine in prison for life, Blakely was in the clear. But when Blaine broke out and headed straight to Blakely to have him help with retribution, Blakely had panicked.

Blaine hadn't been worried on the phone calls; he'd been annoyed. He probably had Blakely off running other loose ends to no avail.

Hell, Blakely was probably the one who told Blaine that Steve had been tipped off to begin with because he knew that Blaine would do something stupid to find out for sure. Setting Blaine up in a hostage situation and then letting Blaine bury himself under a new host of charges was a brilliant way to have Blaine end up in prison or on the run - all of his own doing.

And better yet, if it ended up with Steve dying, no one would ever know Blakely was involved.

It was brilliant. Almost genius.

If it worked.

Steve didn't intend on letting it work.

Because Steve wasn't a willing or submissive pawn, and he wasn't going to let Danny or Malcolm be one either.

With an intense earnestness, Steve kept his eyes on Malcolm. He took the accusation out of his voice and replaced it with desperate reason. "It's not okay," he said. "None of this is okay. But we can work together to make it okay."

Malcolm was listening now - with a new earnestness that made Steve dare to hope.

"You just need to let us go," Steve continued, keeping his gaze steady and his voice tempered. "Blaine's gone. You can let us go and we'll all leave here together before Blaine has a chance to find us."

Malcolm was quivering now, shaking his head. "I don't have a key."

"I don't need a key," Steve said, willing himself to stay calm. "Just find a paperclip. A piece of metal. Something small enough to put in the lock and pry it open."

Malcolm blinked rapidly, and then nodded convulsively. He hesitated another moment, putting the gun down and moving to the table. His hands were shaking violently as he searched.

"Even the pen," Steve said, remembering the plan he'd hatched earlier. "Take it apart and give me the smallest piece."

Malcolm's hands fumbled, picking up the pen and sloppily unscrewing it.

Steve strained, and it was an effort to keep himself still. His heart was throbbing with adrenaline now, the thought of potential escape more real to him than ever.

And more pressing than ever.

He stole a glance backward and saw Danny's head still tipped forward, the blood on the floor still spreading.

His stomach twisted and his entire body felt jittery. The inability to do anything was slow insanity for him. For a man of action, depending on someone else to get the job done was simply against his nature.

Especially when it involved saving his partner's life.

Malcolm was still twisting the pen, and when he dropped it, he let out a curse before picking it up with one hand and swiping the other across his brow. He found more success this time, and the pen came apart, pieces scattering on the table. Malcolm swore again, grasping for the right pieces, and turning back to Steve with a look of triumph on his face.

"Good," Steve said. He jerked his head. "Now give them to me."

Malcolm clearly didn't need to be told twice. The kid was obviously thoroughly trained at taking orders by now. Maybe Steve owed Blaine a thank you for that.

He frowned grimly at the thought. He'd send the thank you note right after the judge handed down a fresh sentence for kidnapping and attempted murder.

Malcolm moved quickly now, holding the pen parts in front of him. "I don't know which one - I mean, I don't know-"

Steve eyed them, ignoring Malcolm's sputtering. "The long metal one," he said. "Do you know how to pop the lock?"

Malcolm shook his head, eyes wide. "No, I mean-"

Steve didn't have time for it. "Put it in my hand, then," he ordered brusquely.

Malcolm obliged, bending over to snake the part into Steve's grasp. When he had a firm grip, Malcolm stood again, looking at him with hopeful expectancy.

With the object in hand, that was all Steve needed. His adrenaline pumped up even further, pulsing throughout his body with enough intensity that he was nearly vibrating with it. It was all coming together now, all the pieces he needed to get them out of here and live up to his promises to Danny. He would get them out of here. Blaine would go back to jail, and Blakely would join him. And Danny would be fine.

He would be, Steve would make sure of that.

Senses alert, Steve didn't need to see his hands to make steady progress. It took some maneuvering to position the piece of metal in his hand, but after only a few missed pokes, it found its mark.

He twisted, working as best he could to turn the metal in the hole. He needed to find the right spot, the right leverage, and it would pop free, just like that. A little more, a little further, and-

His efforts were thwarted by the abrupt sound of a gunshot.

It took all the self-control Steve had to not drop the metal. As it was, his hands jarred, and he lost his position. Finding it again was a pressing concern, but it would have to wait until he regained control of the situation.

Malcolm's mouth was opening, and he was shaking so hard that it looked like he could fall over at any second. He swallowed, holding his hands out. "I was just resting," he stammered. "I swear. I promise."

Blaine, standing not far away, did not look convinced.

Of course, from the look on Blaine's face, Steve could only venture that the business meeting had not gone well. If Blaine had gone to see Blakely, he'd inevitably gotten another runaround, forcing him to delay his plans even more. Without cooperation from Blakely or Steve, Blaine was rapidly running out of time and options.

And patience, if the gun in his hand was any indication.

It was pointed at Malcolm, and Steve could make out a hole in the wall behind the kid from Blaine's warning shot. Blaine couldn't have seen much - except Malcolm standing with a decided lack of attention and his gun discarded - so it was possible that he didn't know just how close Steve was to getting free.

With that thought, Steve tucked the part up in his hands, clenching his fist tightly to obscure it as best he could.

The action made his fingers brush against Danny's, and he couldn't help but notice how cool and clammy they felt.

Still, as important as Danny's situation was right then, dealing with Blaine took precedence. And for as little as Blaine could know for sure, it was clear by the disdain on his face that he knew enough.

Lips drawn into a sneer, Blaine kept his aim steady, finger on the trigger. "And I just wanted to play target shooting," he said snidely. He shook his head with a tsk. "Please, Malcolm, I thought you understood that this wasn't a game."

Malcolm's hands were still out and he nodded readily. "I know," he said quickly. "I know it's not a game. I do. I was just resting. Really."

Steve couldn't blame the kid for covering his own backside. He wouldn't even begrudge him that. He'd made am ally out of Malcolm, and he had no desire to see the kid get killed. More than that, for all of Malcolm's backpedalling, he hadn't given Steve's escape route up just yet.

But given the look on Blaine's face, Malcolm wouldn't have to tell him anything. The entire thing was going from bad to worse - and quickly.

Danny still limp at his back, Steve renewed his efforts with as much stealth as he could muster. However long Blaine let Malcolm try to explain was as long as he might have to make one last ditch attempt to get the hell out.

Blaine's arm held steady. "It was a simple job," he said, almost lecturing now. "When choosing sides, you should always pick the one with the most guns."

With an attitude like that, it was no wonder that Blaine had been locked up in a federal prison.

Still, Steve didn't think it was overly relevant to offer any kind of counteroffer at the moment. He focused instead on maneuvering the metal back into the cuffs. He found the spot more quickly this time, straining as he tried not to let his efforts be visible, a wary eye trained on Blaine.

Malcolm shook his head again, almost convulsively. "I wasn't choosing sides," he said. He took a shuddering breath. "Please, this isn't what I thought it would be."

"It doesn't matter what you thought it would be," Blaine snapped, with a ferocity that made Malcolm jump.

Steve tensed, but didn't stop working, shifting his fingers to find the right leverage.

"You just had to follow orders," Blaine continued. "Simple orders. Keep an eye on the prisoners until I get back."

"But he's bleeding," Malcolm said, gesturing helplessly toward Danny.

Steve froze instinctively, but Blaine's gaze didn't shift.

"Would it make you feel better if he were already dead?" Blaine said tersely. "Because he can die now or he can die later, and it makes little difference to me."

Malcolm paled, but Steve didn't allow himself to even consider it. He kept working, feeling the mechanism shift ever so slightly.

Blaine cocked his head. "I would think you would understand the concept of a loose end," he continued. "Detective Williams, Lieutenant Commander McGarrett - are loose ends. They will only survive to tell me what I want to know, but surely you can see as clearly as McGarrett that this won't end well. It is why he has made himself obstinately difficult. He understood his position, and knew from the beginning that he was royally screwed."

Malcolm was trembling harder now, sweat on his forehead. Steve grit his teeth, ignoring the fresh blood slicking his wrists as he desperately sought release.

"You didn't have to be," Blaine said, gun still trained. "You could have walked away from this."

Steve's heart skipped a beat. Blaine's monologuing was a good distraction, but it would only last so long. And the last thing he really wanted was Malcolm's blood on his hands. Because the kid had made his choice, and Blaine knew it as well as Steve did.

He just had to tweak the cuffs, get out, find a way to overpower Blaine. The two of them - it might work. It had to work-

Another gunshot jarred his thoughts and his fingers jerked again. He looked up, mouth open and eyes wide, only to find that he was too late.

He was too late.

Malcolm was on the floor, eyes closed and face ashen, bleeding from a shot to the chest. There was no way to tell if it was a killing shot and there was no time to figure it out with Blaine standing in front of him, the end of his gun leveled between Steve's eyes.

"Clever," Blaine said.

Steve's heart skipped a beat, his blood going cold as a new sheen of sweat broke out across his body. Blaine knew just as well as Steve did. The game was over. The posturing was done. Blaine had let his loose ends fray as far as he could. It was time to tie them off.

"I suppose asking you to give up the name is pointless now, isn't it?" he asked.

"Blaine, none of this is what you think," Steve tried to explain. "You've been set up."

Blaine made a face. "What, by my little friend over there?" he asked, jerking his head back toward Malcolm's prone form. "That's what I get for hiring cheap help."

Steve shook his head. "Blakely," he said. "Blakely was my source."

Blaine's expression stilled in confusion, and he shook his head. "You know about Blakely?"

"I know more than you do about Blakely," Steve explained desperately. "He was the one who tipped us off all those years ago. He's the one that set you up to kidnap me. He doesn't care if you know the truth, he just wants you to waste enough time here to get caught and go back to prison."

The news did not seem to settle well with Blaine. He shook his head again, features twisting into a sneer. "That's not possible."

"It is possible," Steve said. "Think about it. Who else would know enough to take you down? He took enough for a nest egg for himself and turned you in so he could enjoy it. When you got out, he needed to get rid of you. This is how he's doing it. He wants you to kill me because you'll never get away with it."

Blaine's jaw worked, a tremor of rage going through him.

Steve kept his eyes earnest, trying not to look at Malcolm on the floor, Danny at his back.

The indecision cleared from Blaine's face. His mouth set in a grim line and he raised his chin. He still held the gun, trained on Steve, but not aimed for a decisive killing shot. "I'm glad you finally decided to tell me," he said. "We could have spared ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Let me go and we'll take down Blakely," Steve offered hopefully. "We can work out a plea bargain, something to ease your sentence-"

Blaine's mouth quirked into a cold smile. "That's cute," he said. "But now that I know what I need to know, I have more reason than ever to finish this escapade. I do thank you for your help, and I promise, I'll make this quick."

With that Blaine lifted his aim again, back to Steve's temple.

Steve blinked once and knew what was coming. It had been a long shot - telling Blaine the truth was never an ace in the hole, but one last stall. But Steve had known that since the minute he woke up. Dead now or dead later, and Steve had given up all he had and they both knew it.

His eyes skittered to Malcolm on the floor. Danny and the pool of blood at his feet. He looked back at Blaine and saw no regrets, no hesitation, just cold determination.

This was it.

Steve swallowed hard, tensed his body and prepared for the worst.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This is a bit on the short side, but it has some key turning points, so hopefully you'll forgive that. After this, just two chapters to go :) Thanks!

HOUR ELEVEN

Blaine pulled the trigger.

Steve saw it, almost couldn't look away. Saw the perfect aim, the malice-twisted face, the slight jerk of the gun as the trigger was moved back.

Steve saw it - just for a second. The image was emblazoned in his mind, and he held it there, let it burn with the intensity he needed to fuel his adrenaline.

Because it was easy to hit a sitting target.

It was much harder to hit one when it pulled out suddenly, going wide and charging from the side.

The handcuffs were already loose, and it only took one last decisive pull and Steve was free and surging. As he sprung to the left, the gun went off, and Steve could feel the bullet as it breezed behind him. It clinked with a muted thump, and Steve could only hope that the trajectory was exactly what he had anticipated. Blaine had never bothered to look Steve in the eye for this, and his lack of manhood could only work to Steve's advantage. A full frontal shot at Steve's head would hit Danny, but from the side, it nicked the cement floor.

Not that Steve had time to worry about that, though. Instead, he kept his focus, turning quickly on his heel. He didn't have time to build up much momentum either, but the sheer adrenaline was more than enough to make up for it as he launched himself at Blaine. True, Blaine was armed, but Steve had the element of surprise going for him.

Not to mention that Steve was pissed off. And when he was pissed off, there really wasn't much he couldn't do. At least nothing that he would let himself believe he couldn't do.

Blaine had shot Danny, killed Malcolm, and fired a gun aimed at Steve's head. And none of that even got him started on the whole beating and kidnapping that had gone on for the better part of the day.

At this point, all of that made breaking out of prison and betraying his country seem like petty crimes to begin with.

Any way Steve thought about it, Blaine was done. This was done. Steve had endured more than his lot and if he was ever ready to deliver justice, this was the time. This was the place.

Blaine went down hard, landing with a grunt beneath Steve's weight. The gun hit the ground, skittering away. Steve didn't bother to look for it; he didn't need to. He didn't need a gun to subdue Blaine. Not anymore.

Instead, he got into position, sitting up but keeping his weight on Blaine. As Blaine scrambled to get his bearings, Steve landed a hard right across his face, taking pleasure in the crack of bone beneath his hand, even as the skin on his knuckles split painfully.

He reared back again with another satisfying punch, but this time Blaine saw it coming. He couldn't do much to dodge, but turning his head at the last minute made it nothing more than a glancing blow. It was a small move, but it gave Blaine a much needed second to recover, and Steve felt the tension in the body beneath him mount.

Bearing down hard, Steve kept his focus on retaining position. He moved for another punch, but Blaine's training was good and he bucked hard and Steve rocked perilously to the side.

Blaine followed up with another jarring motion, sending them both tumbling to the side. Steve felt his back hit the ground and refused to stay still, forcing the roll again. He came up on his haunches, but he lost his position. Blaine pulled away, nose bleeding, but hands up in defense.

Steve didn't hesitate. He'd played it safe for hours, and now that it had come to this, he wasn't about to hold back. Blaine didn't have a gun anymore and Steve wasn't tied up to make things easy. This was how it should have been all along and Steve was more than ready to end this.

He wasn't the only one. Blaine stance went from defensive to offensive, just that fast and by the time they met in the middle, it was a clash of fists and legs. The back and forth was rapid - a blocked arm, a dodged kick. Absorbing a blow to the shoulder, taking a kick to the stomach. Another ripped into his ribs, hard enough that Steve almost felt a crack. Blaine went hard for the body, which was easier to land, but slower to incapacitate.

With a head shot, Steve just needed one good punch.

One good opening.

He tucked hard to the left, taking another powerful blow to his ribcage. He curled in, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest, letting Blaine think he was retreating to a defensive tactic.

Blaine took the bait and followed up hard, a kick to the knee that almost sent Steve falling. He gritted his teeth and kept his footing, but not before Blaine landed another punch, this time to the ribs again.

It hurt, but not enough for Steve to worry about. Still, he let it register on his face, and he saw Blaine's eyes spark with the idea of victory.

Overconfidence was a bitch. It was time Blaine learned that once and for all.

Blaine kicked again with more force now, but this time Steve didn't let it land. Instead, he skirted it, and it the missed impact made Blaine teeter.

Not much, but enough.

It left him open, arms out to retain his balance.

And Steve had a perfect opening. One punch, uppercut to the chin, hard enough to rattle Blaine's teeth and send him sprawling.

It was probably enough, that single punch. Steve had perfected it. Enough to knock him out, anyway.

Not enough to make Steve want this to be over. Because Blaine had kidnapped him, beat his partner and left him for dead. Blaine had intended on murdering them both, and Steve liked to think that he could be a forgiving guy, but there were some lines that just could not be crossed in his book.

Killing his father - definitely not, and Hesse would find that out the hard way by spending the rest of his life in jail.

Shooting his partner - also a definitive no. Steve hadn't even been aware of that one, but when he saw the blood, heard Danny's voice fade out, could still hear him asking him to _tell Grace_...

Well, nothing would be enough to teach this son of a bitch a lesson he deserved.

Steve was on him in an instant, pounding hard on the face. Blaine tried to move away, somehow still conscious, but Steve didn't let him. He followed up, harder than before, using both hands hard and fast and relentless.

For the kidnapping. For the beating. For Malcolm. For Danny.

The thought stopped him cold. Pulling back, he looked down, and Blaine made no attempt to move away. He was limp now, face bloodied and turned to the side. His chest rose and fell raggedly, but there was no sign of consciousness.

Still, Steve couldn't be too safe.

He got up, staggering a little, retrieving his handcuffs, rolling Blaine roughly on his stomach before slapping the cuffs together.

Getting to his feet, Steve was panting, his body starting to feel the ache. The heat of the fight was waning now, and the reality of what he'd endured could not be as easily dispatched as Blaine. His wrists were still bleeding, his hands throbbing. There was still a dull ache in his head, and the punches to his torso had been real. All things considered, Steve needed to sit down and rest.

But not yet.

With a tight breath, Steve turned back to the chairs, where Danny was still slumped in his seat, head forward. From this view, Steve could see everything his partner had endured. The rumpled clothes hid much of the earlier beating, but the stark bruises were evident on his face. There were smudges of blood on his features, a trickle running from his hairline to the collar of his shirt. One eye was swollen badly, and there was a mess of blood from his nose, smeared along Danny's upper lip.

And then there was the gunshot wound.

Steve couldn't see the bullet hole, but he could see the blood. It would be impossible not to see the blood. It soaked the entire side of Danny's dress shirt, saturating his tie as well. Danny's pants were also wet, the black fabric shiny in the dim light. The seeping wound had created a pool of blood on the chair, which had already begun to overflow with a disturbingly consistent drip to the growing puddle on the floor.

He'd seen guys lose less and die.

The thought made his stomach churn, but Steve didn't let himself cave to that. He'd conquered too much to get here, and he was not about to let Danny down now, not when he finally had a chance to come through on all the promises he'd made.

Quickly, he scaled the distance back to his partner's side, going to a knee to fumble with the handcuffs. Desperate, he looked across the floor, looking for anything to get the lock undone - and fast.

He spared another look in Danny's pale face and willed himself to go faster.

Fortunately, in the hustle, his lock pick was still on the ground from where he'd dropped it earlier. With numb fingers, he picked it up, sliding it into the lock and fiddling it hard. It was surprisingly easy, and the cuffs popped open and Steve hastily took them off.

Danny's hands fell free and without the restraint of the cuffs, Danny's body slipped forward. It was all Steve could do to catch him, propping up the dead weight while he scrambled for better position. Danny's breath was shallow against him, and the blood was warm.

Steve swallowed hard, getting his footing and rotating so he could guide Danny's body gently to the floor. He eased him away from the puddle of blood, stretching Danny out on his back so he could get a better look at his partner and start basic triage.

The first of which was to control the bleeding. The beating had undoubtedly been painful and while there was a chance of internal damage, the pressing concern was the blood still seeping from the bullet wound. Danny had lost enough as it was that he was probably borderline hypovolemic, and if Steve wanted his partner to survive until help arrived, he needed to start controlling the bleeding - now.

Of course, without a proper first aid kit, that was all easier said than done. But Steve was nothing if not resourceful. He just needed something to serve as a bandage, something to absorb the blood. Steve's eyes scanned the area, looking at the boxes, Blaine's cuffed body. Steve needed gauze, a towel...

He rolled his eyes at himself. Or a shirt.

Sitting back on his haunches, he peeled off his shirt, quickly ripping it into two pieces. As he wadded one into a ball and positioned at Danny's side, he afforded his friend a small smile. "Don't worry," he said, almost able to hear the indignant protests he partner would have made were he conscious enough to do so. "You know me. I've stripped for far less."

Finding a good spot over the bullet hole, Steve took the other strip of his shirt, and maneuvering it under Danny. He lifted his partner's body gently, threading the strip around, easing Danny back down before picking up the two ends and tying them tightly together.

Adjusting the positioning one last time, he wiped his nose, his heart still pounding in his ears.

Then, from outside, he heard a noise. Steve's attention shifted, eyes going from Danny's prone form to Blaine's trussed up figure to the light streaming through one of the windows. He hadn't called for backup yet, and there was still a chance that Blakely would be stupid enough to show.

And that would really be his luck.

Glancing around, he could probably hide, but there was no way he was going to leave Danny out in the open like this. Malcolm either. Steve had been so preoccupied with Danny that he hadn't even given the kid another thought. Not for a lack of sympathy, but Steve had his priorities.

Eyes settling on Malcolm, there was still no clear sign of life - but next to Malcolm's sprawled form was his gun.

Steve looked again toward the door, hearing another small scuffle. He looked at Danny, face pale, mouth parted as he strained for breath.

It was an easy decision to make.

Standing, Steve scaled the distance to Malcolm, not pausing to check the kid's vitals. Instead, he snagged the gun, hurrying back to Danny's side. He took up position in front of his partner's body, pulling the gun up and cocking it, taking careful aim at the door.

There was an eerie silence. Steve could hear his heart, feel his blood rushing. He could feel Danny's body working to stay alive, Blaine's body working on dying. For a second, that was everything. After everything Steve had been through today, this was his last stand. He and Danny would leave here together - one way or another.

Steve steadied his gun, taking a steadying breath, willing Danny to hold on, just a moment longer.

And then the door burst open - both from the front and from the back. Steve couldn't cover both angles - and didn't even try. He kept his sights narrowed on the front door, catching the target easily in his eye line.

Bronze skin, slick dark hair. Pronounced cheekbones and a police-grade bulletproof vest over a simple white shirt and stone washed jeans. And the shotgun.

Steve would always recognize the shotgun.

"Chin," he said, letting his gun drop. "Thank God."

The footsteps from behind were approaching fast, light and staccato. "Easy, ambulance is on its way," Kono's said.

Steve didn't look at her, couldn't look at her. It was all too much now, the adrenaline raging, the relief peaking.

Help was here.

Steve had promised Danny for hours and now help was here.

Chin was checking Malcolm and Blaine and Kono was on her knees next to Danny. Steve still held the gun in his numb hands, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Boss," Kono was saying. "_Boss_."

Steve blinked, looking at her with a watery smile.

Her face was screwed up in concern, her hands already pressing hard on Danny's side.

"I told him you'd come," Steve said.

Kono's head cocked. "Of course," she said. "When you didn't show up and stopped answering your calls, we went through the paperwork. Called a few leads and then found this address." She paused, looking over toward Chin then back down at Danny before lifting her eyes back up to meet Steve's. "What happened?"

It was a simple question, but there was no simple answer. So much had happened. Too much. From getting kidnapped to getting beaten to getting shot. To telling Danny he had it under control to promising Danny he'd do the right thing the end. And promising Danny they'd get out of here.

What happened? What happened to Steve's control? What happened to Steve's promises? What happened to Steve's ability to do anything? What happened to being partners, to making the right choices? What happened to finding a best friend just to lose him in such a stupid, stupid way?

What happened?

Steve heaved, desperately drawing in air.

What happened to the throbbing in his head or the aching in his ribs? What happened to Danny's blood on his hands or the sound of his partner's breath as it strained through bruised ribs?

Kono was looking at him. Chin was talking to him. But all Steve could see was Danny. Unconscious on the warehouse floor, his partner had trusted him until the very end. Trusted him now. And what happened?

His ears went deaf, his vision tunneled. His chest was on fire, his lungs laboring in vain. He could feel the gun slipping to the floor, the blood all over the place, too much, too far.

What happened?

Steve really wanted to know, but this time it wasn't in his control as his vision blinked out entirely and he fell hard to the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: And the resolution begins :) Thank you!

HOUR TWELVE

It came back in flashes.

One second, Steve was on the floor, hard cement under his head. The next, he blinked up at the ceiling, and realized that it hurt to breathe. His breath caught in his chest, but he forced himself through it, exhaling with a cough.

Kono's face appeared above him, creased with concern. She looked a little pale, her dark hair tucked hastily behind her ears. She was still wearing her vest, but her gun was holstered. "Just take it easy," she told him.

Steve blinked, rolling his head as he tried to take another breath. There were cops everywhere now. It seemed loud and busy, but distant. Steve turned his head the other direction and saw a pair of paramedics, working fast, equipment spread out on the floor.

"It's going to be okay," Kono said, but she was a bad liar. Steve wasn't sure if it was just the rookie in her or if she was just too genuine to pull of falsehood well, but he knew it wasn't true.

Because the medics were working harder than the cops and Danny's legs were stretched limply out in from behind them and sometimes, Steve just knew things.

"Steve," Kono said, a little more insistently now. Her hand is on his shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

Steve could hear her, but didn't know how to answer. His head was swimming, vision still gray around the edges. The need for oxygen was paramount, but the simple act of breathing seemed like almost more than he could handle. The medics shifted, lifting their burden, and as they moved apart, Steve caught a glimpse of Danny.

His shirt was cut away, a heavy bandage replacing Steve's makeshift one. The bloody remains were still on the floor, in a red heap. Danny's face was stark white now, pallidly cast in the dying sunlight outside. One of the medics was holding a mask over his face, squeezing a bag of air in even, steady motions.

"Steve," Kono kept saying, like it made a difference.

Steve liked to take things to the edge. He believed that any boundary was worth breaking if it got the job done. He accepted that sometimes compromises had to be made.

Not like this.

Lung burning, his back arched as he sucked in hard. It didn't seem to make much difference.

Nothing made much difference. When was he going to learn that?

He closed his eyes, remembering the sound of the gunshot that killed his father. Remembering the slur of Danny's voice before he passed out. Remembering the failures that started this, that might end this.

"Hey!" Kono was yelling now. "A little help over here!"

Somehow Steve doubted it would make much difference as his reality faded again.

-o-

He came to in an ambulance. There was a medic by his side that he didn't recognize. He was older than Steve, a little portly, with warm smile lines around his eyes. He looked at Steve over his clipboard with a warm grin on his face. "They said you were a stubborn one," he said. "But I never would have guessed that you'd have the strength to wake up right now."

Steve's brow furrowed and he tried to speak but found his mouth dry.

"Careful," the medic said, holding up one hand. "You've taken quite the beating."

Steve shook his head, swallowing hard. "Danny," he said.

The medic nodded, patting him gently on the shoulder. "At the hospital already," he said. "Don't worry."

But it was Steve's job to worry. It was Steve's job to keep his team safe. It was Steve's job to make sure they all got out of there alive. "Is he-"

The question was cut off by a sharp pain in his side. He grimaced, trying to breathe through it, but the movement just made it worse.

The hand on his shoulder was steadier now. "You've got some broken ribs," he said. "We've got to be careful for perforation-"

It was almost on cue, the splitting agony that almost made Steve roll right off the table. Because his chest hurt and he couldn't breathe and Danny had to be okay-

Steve was being held down forcibly now, and the medic's voice lost its humor. Steve couldn't make out the words, though, couldn't make out much of anything. The need to breathe reached a horrible pinnacle until his awareness petered out once more.

-o-

This time, Steve woke up on a bed. It was narrow and uncomfortable, the metal sides up as if to hold him in. He was covered with a sheet and wearing a gown, but the front was partially open.

He felt unusually numb, and it wasn't hard to figure out that there was something strong running through the IV hooked to his hand. His entire body felt sore, achy, but his side was particularly absent of feeling.

Looking down with a frown, it took him a minute to realize that there was a tube in his chest, hooked to a drain.

A chest tube. Presumably for a punctured lung. Which explained why it had been so hard to breathe.

That was one answer down. Only a hundred left to go.

Such as, was Blaine being properly watched? Was Malcolm even still alive? Had anyone figured out Blakely's involvement? Where were Chin and Kono? Was the governor aware of what had happened? When was he going to be discharged?

And that didn't even get him started on the important things. Like, where was Danny? Was his partner okay? What was his partner's condition? Had Danny been conscious at all? Had anyone taken the time to inform Grace?

His questions were cut short, however, when there was a movement at the door. Steve straightened, and immediately regretted it, a new wave of pain overriding the numbness of the sedatives in his systems.

Eyes shut, he breathed for a minute, and when he opened his eyes, he found a nurse at his side. She was checking the equipment, but took a minute to smile at him. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Steve's brow furrowed and he ignored the pain. "Fine," he ground out.

She nodded, a twinkle of humor in her eyes. "I'm sure," she said, moving to the end of his bed and picking up his chart. She made a notation.

Steve shifted upward again, more carefully this time. "So when can I get out of here?"

She looked at him balefully, scribbling something else. "You are aware that there's a tube sticking out of your chest, aren't you?"

Steve glanced down again at the tube, looking back up at her indifferently. "I have to check on my partner."

She put the chart back. "They said you probably would," she commented.

Head cocked, Steve asked, "They?"

"Your team," she said. "They've been exiled to the waiting room, but if you want-"

Steve nodded readily. He'd been in enough medical facilities to know that his best source of information had to be closer to the source. The chances of this nurse being in on Danny's care as well as his own were slim to none, so it was likely she would offer him nothing more than platitudes. "Yes, I'd like to see them," he said.

She smiled again, a little forced, then headed toward the door.

"And I'd like to see my doctor, too," Steve called after her, lifting an arm to look disdainfully at his IV.

She turned at the door, a little bemused. "Of course," she said.

When the door shut behind her, Steve took a moment to gather his bearings. His head was still a bit fuzzy, but it was substantially clearer. He turned his head, looking for the clock. It was pushing midnight, which meant they'd probably been in the hospital for a few hours at least. That was more than enough time to properly treat his punctured lung and would allow the sedatives in his system to abate just enough to bring him back to consciousness.

It would also be enough time for Danny to be fully treated, possibly even through surgery. The gunshot wound, as best Steve could remember, had been complicated by blood loss and time, not the placement of the bullet. Of course, that was assuming there had been no internal damage, which at this point, Steve couldn't be sure of. His own beating at the hands of Blaine had been short lived and violent, and he felt guilty for not better weighing the cost of all the kicks and punches Danny endured throughout the day.

Still, Danny's condition would be better known by now. The likelihood of survival would be a readily known fact, and that was what Steve needed to know at this point.

He glared at the tube in his chest. As soon as he got out of this hospital bed, that was. He had sound first aid skills, but his knowledge of in depth medical procedures was hit and miss. But his breathing felt okay overall. His chest was somewhat tight, but it seemed to loosen with each deep breath he took.

When the door opened again, he was propped up more on the bed, having figured out how to operate the levers. If the change in position left him a little lightheaded, he wasn't about to admit it, and he made himself focus as Chin entered the room.

His father's former partner looked weary, with tired eyes and a somewhat bedraggled appearance. His features were a little gaunt with sleeplessness, but he managed a genuine grin when he met Steve's eyes.

"You're looking better," Chin said.

"Yeah, well, I'm feeling better," Steve said. "So how's Danny?"

Chin clearly wasn't surprised by Steve's abrupt shift in conversation. He sighed knowingly with a wry smile. "No small talk, then," he mused.

"The nurse wouldn't tell me anything and I haven't gotten to see the doctor yet," Steve informed him. "How is he?"

Chin collected a breath, and held Steve's eyes squarely. "Just got out of surgery," he reported. "They removed the bullet without much problem, but had to do an exploratory laporatomy to contain some bleeding in his abdomen. They think they got most of it, but it's sort of a wait and see thing."

Steve took the news stoically. It was as much as he'd expected. Swallowing, he pressed on. "What's his prognosis?"

Chin shrugged a little. "He's critical for now, and they haven't transferred him out of recovery just yet. He's running a low grade fever, but his vitals seem to be rebounding after receiving a couple of transfusions," Chin explained. He shook his head. "That's all they've told me. We just have to wait and see."

It sounded like typical doctor-speak, but unfortunately, Steve had never been one for waiting and seeing. He was the kind of guy who took action, and found things out on his own, even when others told him it couldn't be done.

And he wasn't about to wait and see when it came to Danny's life.

Sitting up further, he tested his limits, fiddling anxiously with the IVs.

"Hey, easy there," Chin advised, coming closer. "You're looking better, but you're not quite ready to be on your feet just yet."

Steve scowled, but settled back down. "Do you know my prognosis?"

Chin lifted an eyebrow. "The only thing they're watching is the punctured lung," he said. "It's improving nicely, but you're going to have to take it easy."

Steve grimaced. "I don't have time to take it easy," he muttered. He lifted a hand, gesturing to the door. "Danny just got out of surgery. I need to be there."

Chin nodded in placation. "They won't let anyone see him until he's out of recovery anyway," he said. "And I don't think he's going to wake up any time soon. You're fine just where you are."

There was logic to that, but Steve didn't particularly care for it. Because he'd just spent the last day handcuffed to Danny, back to back with him when he'd been beaten and shot. After all that, it didn't seem right to trust Danny's recovery to a bunch of doctors and nurses in a lonely room. They'd gotten into this together; they'd get out of it together. Steve had promised, and Danny had trusted him.

Danny had trusted him.

The guilt stabbed at him with fresh vigor.

Collecting a breath, he wet his lips, looking at Chin again. "What about the crime scene?" he asked. "Blaine's in custody?"

Chin settled back on his heels a bit, clearly convinced that Steve was no longer a flight risk for the time being. "You did quite the number on him," he said. "They admitted him to this hospital for treatment. He'll be fine, but is out of commission for awhile."

"He's being guarded?" Steve asked.

"Two officers at all times," Chin confirmed. "He's not getting out of there."

"He already escaped from prison once," Steve said.

Chin shrugged. "We could always cuff him to the bed, but the doctors might find that extreme considering he's still under sedation."

Steve nodded curtly. "Do it," he said.

Chin lifted his eyebrows.

"Trust me," Steve said. "He deserves that - and so much more. The minute he's awake, though, I want to be sure we question him, secure a statement."

Chin nodded. "They're going to call me the minute he shows any signs of consciousness."

"What about the kid?" Steve asked, his mind tracking back the case. It wasn't his first priority, but if he couldn't be there for Danny at that exact moment, he would do the next best thing and wrap this case up so tight that there were no loose ends left to worry about when he woke up.

"Malcolm Barnes," Chin said with a nod. "He's in the ICU, critical but stable. The gunshot cost him a kidney, but the doctors are cautiously optimistic. We've got two guards on him as well."

Steve shook his head. "He's not going anywhere," he reported. "Blaine was blackmailing him into helping. The kid didn't know he had any options."

Chin frowned, thoughtfully. "But why? I mean, why did Blaine go through all this in the first place?"

And that was the million dollar question, even if it wasn't the one Steve really wanted to deal with at the moment. The reason why had crippled him from the very beginning and now, even after all the pieces had fallen into place, it still seemed woefully inadequate. "Blaine was cheated out of some of his money," Steve explained, a little grimly. "He set me up to come find him because I knew the name of the person who snitched on him and he figured that was the only person who could have taken the money."

Chin considered that. "Was he right?"

Steve sighed, running his IV free hand through his hair warily. "Yes," he said. "But I didn't know that."

"So what did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Steve spat, his hackles rising. "I didn't tell him anything. I wanted to protect the witness and I knew that the only bargaining chip I had to keep us alive was to not say anything."

Chin's brow creased, his eyes warming with sympathy. "That was the right thing to do," he said. "It bought us the time we needed to track you down."

"But Blaine was right," Steve said. "It was the witness who took his money. It was him all along who set us up and I protected him while Danny..." His voice trailed off and he looked away, swallowing back the words. He could still hear the sound of Danny's flesh giving way, the small grunts of pain that his partner hadn't wanted to give voice to. Gathering himself, he forced the emotion back, meeting Chin's eyes again with a smoldering resentment. "And the son of a bitch probably got away."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Chin said. "Lieutenant Christopher Blakely, right?"

Steve's eyes widened, surprised. "Yeah, how did you know that?"

"Blaine's phone records. Kono picked out the number and tracked it," he explained. "We sent HPD to arrest him an hour ago. He's in custody right now, reportedly crying a river and trying to negotiate some kind of plea bargain for rolling over on Blaine."

For a second, all Steve could do was stare. This was a case he'd unintentionally left open, loose ends fraying for years. Even when it blew up in his face, it had taken him nearly an entire day to put together all the pieces. And now Chin was saying it was over. Completely and totally.

Just like that. In an hour, his team had solved a case that he'd left dormant for years.

In an hour, Chin and Kono had reversed what Danny had spent an entire day suffering for.

More than that. Danny was still suffering.

As hard as it was to understand how this case had gone down, Steve still had his priorities. If he had learned nothing else from his father's death, this much was certain: sometimes the case didn't come first. Sometimes putting away the bad guy, living up to his duty was just a secondary concern. Because if Blaine lived or died, if Blakely escaped or went to prison, none of it made a difference if Danny wasn't okay.

Just like putting Hesse behind bars didn't make the loss of his father any less palatable.

Because Danny was wrong. About a lot of things - not quite everything, but certainly this: Steve wasn't a superman. Steve wasn't even close. Steve was just a guy who believed in something bigger than himself and had never wanted to choose between that cause and the people he cared about. Steve was just a son mourning his father, a cop figuring out how to have a partner. A guy learning how to be a friend.

With a steadying breath, Steve held Chin's gaze with new resolve. "So when can I get out of here again?"

-o-

Being in the Navy had taught Steve to respect authority.

Especially when he had it.

Truth be told, he knew a lot about following orders, but mostly on a large level. Orders to uphold national security and to serve his country at all costs - those were easy. They came to him naturally.

Other orders, not so much.

Danny was big on that kind of thing. Trivialities like police code and the rights of the accused. In the abstract, Steve understood their purpose, but he never much cared to abide by them when they got in the way of bringing someone to justice. He liked orders that made sense, not just in the big picture, but in the minute details of life.

To that end, he respected his doctors and his nurses. A lot. He had no doubt that they were very well trained and that they in fact had his best interest at heart.

That didn't mean, however, that he was overly keen on following their orders. Because, yes, Steve felt a little run down and his side did hurt some and the tube in his chest probably did need some maintenance, but they were being overly cautious. As it was, Steve didn't even need to sign out AMA at this point. He just wanted permission to go to Danny's room. If it made them feel better, he'd be willing to keep the IVs and all other appropriate medical equipment and would resign himself to a wheelchair, but one way or another, he was going to see his partner.

Medical authority be damned. Steve knew the limits of his body and he knew his priorities. He'd had worse than this, and he wasn't sure Danny had, so lying in a hospital bed while Danny was sedated was simply not going to happen. Steve was willing to lobby for permission, but if they didn't accede to his demands soon, Steve would pull the chest tube out and walk up to Danny's room himself.

Or, hobble, as it were. But hobbling didn't sound very resolute, and Steve was set on this.

"He's unconscious," his doctor reiterated with a sigh, repeating herself for the fifth time. "I've checked in on his condition myself. Even if his body was ready to wake up from the trauma he endured, the medication he's on will keep him thoroughly unconscious at least until tomorrow."

Steve drew a breath and tried not to be annoyed. "If he's unconscious, then I can't do any harm," he countered.

"But you also can't do any good," she said. She was probably about Steve's age, with dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had something of a blunt demeanor, which Steve actually appreciated, but she was far too prone to citing rules and procedures for him to take her much more seriously.

"He's my partner," Steve said. "This is what partners do."

She balked at him for a bit. "Act like idiots and endanger one's health needlessly? That's what partners do?"

Steve considered that. He thought about Danny handcuffed to the chair, telling him how stupid he was at every turn. He thought about how Danny cursed him and complained to him and trusted him in the end. Willingly took every blow and wanted more to protect him.

Steve thought about how much he was willing to sacrifice to make sure Danny got out of there alive. How, in the end, he would have turned over on Blakely in an instant if he'd thought it would save Danny's life.

Basically, they'd both acted like idiots and endangered their own health needlessly.

He nodded, holding her gaze. "Yes."

She stared, her mouth opening. Then she closed it, shaking her head. "Fine," she said, lips pursed tightly. "But you're taking a wheelchair and all the IVs stay in. I'll have a nurse escort you up there but if there's any trouble from you or Detective Williams, I reserve the right to sedate you and drag you back down here by force, if necessary."

Steve grinned. Now she was finally speaking his language. "Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes, hanging his chart back up and leaving the room without looking back.

-o-

The problem with winning was that the prize was what it was, and sometimes, it didn't seem like enough.

Steve had won against Hesse. Fended off a full-on assault and kept his brother from escaping. That was a victory in every way possibly, upholding justice and his orders and maintaining the integrity of their national security.

And yet, even when Steve had won, the only thing he got for his trouble was a bullet in his father's skull.

He had won with Blaine, gotten out and put him back into custody, but Steve couldn't forget Danny's blood on his hands, the necessary cost of victory once again.

Even now, as the nurse pushed him to Danny's room, he could feel the vestiges of getting his way wearing thin again. Because he could talk the doctor into anything he wanted but that didn't change what he would see when he finally got there.

She had thoroughly warned him, of course, and not just about his own condition. She had explained to him that Danny wasn't out of the woods yet, that the internal bleeding had taken some time to repair, that there'd be no way to know, especially with the blood loss and the mounting possibility of infection.

There was no way to know if the price of victory would seem worth it in the end.

Danny made a compelling case to the contrary. Usually Danny made his points with excessive talking and grandiose hand gestures.

Tonight, he made it with his stillness alone.

Because there he was. Flat on his back in the hospital bed, hooked up to a myriad of equipment. IVs and leads, even a ventilator tube stringing from his mouth. Steve could probably have made sense of most of it by sheer instinct alone, but sitting in his wheelchair, watching Danny, he didn't really see the point.

Not because Danny wasn't worth it. Not because Steve wanted to give up. But because sometimes Steve had to accept fate for what it was and put his focus on being there, more than anything. He still thought about all the things he wished he could have said to his father, all the time he would have spent with him if he'd known. Steve hadn't realized until the eleventh hour that there was still too much unknown between them, and now it was too late.

It wasn't too late with Danny. Or with Chin or with Kono or with Mary or with Catherine. Steve still had time. Steve still had a chance. A chance to make things better. A chance to say the things that matter. A chance to stop and take the time. A chance to realize what these people meant to him and a chance to let them know, one way or another.

It wasn't about being a superhero. It wasn't even about upholding justice or avenging those he'd lost. It was about being human.

Steve sat there, listening to the sound of Danny breathing through the hiss and whir of the machines. It was a quiet sound, almost lost amongst it all, but Steve needed to hear it more than he needed anything else.

More than he needed answers about Hesse, more than he needed to interrogate Blaine. More than he needed to finish processing the crime scene or worry about his own condition.

This was what partners did, and this was what Danny had been trying to explain to him from the beginning. Steve had always sort of understood, but sometimes the point got lost in Danny's irate tones and frantic gestures. But Steve was an apt study, and he had never failed at anything he put his mind at, and he would not fail at this.

Wheeling himself closer, mindful of his own equipment, Steve settled himself again with a steadying breath. He kept his eyes on Danny's face for a moment, before looking away with a shrug.

"It's not that weird," he said, in defense of the objections his partner couldn't raise. Steve could still hear them, rants about staring and privacy and about how two men with their butts exposed should not share the same room.

Steve looked up again, smiling just a little. "I told you I was going to get you out of this," he said. "What kind of partner would I be if I didn't follow through?"

Danny didn't twitch, just stayed still under the equipment and drugs, but Steve could imagine his response, almost hear the ire in Danny's voice as he ripped into Steve about protocol and bullet wounds and everything in between.

And somehow, the night didn't seem as long as it should have after all.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I'm still a little behind on review replies, but I'm getting there :) It's just been sort of a crazy weekend. Anyway, this is the last chapter. Endings are never my forte, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. Thank again to my betas, geminigrl11 and moogsthewriter, for their support, and to everyone who has read and reviewed. It's been fun!

HOUR ONE

It felt like someone had stuck a claw down his throat and wiggled it around, up and down, back and forth, just for good measure. While he had strep throat. Because kicking someone while they were down was just too much fun to pass up.

So perhaps that mental diagnosis was unlikely, but it seemed apt enough at describing the way his throat felt. Not just sore and scratchy, but thick and full of gunk, like the entire thing had been rubbed raw and no amount of saliva in the world was about to undo the damage.

Not that he had much saliva to work with.

Not that he had much of anything to work with, still being semi-conscious and all.

Of course, how he was capable of such creative thought while still not being fully conscious, Danny couldn't be sure. It was either a gift or a curse, he wasn't sure which. There was a reason he hated dreaming: his subconscious was a visceral, annoyingly well-spoken place, and by the time he woke up from any nightmare, he felt mentally drained. Like he'd just spent an entire day in the field with Steve.

So he was used to thinking too much even when not fully aware. But he was not used to hurting quite like this. Because it wasn't just his throat, which was bad enough, he was certain. But it was _everything._ His head, his nose, his face, his ribs, his stomach, his leg, and was pretty sure his gall bladder was bothering him as well. Oh, and his right earlobe for some inexplicable reason.

Though why the earlobe was more disconcerting than the rest, Danny wasn't sure, but since he wasn't fully conscious, he didn't figure he really needed to justify himself. At least not to himself, Which was good, because the more he thought, the more he realized he hurt, and the more he hurt, the more aware he became, and if he wasn't careful, he was going to wake up.

Normally, he might be all for waking up. After all, being in a pained semi-conscious state was probably not a good sign. Especially given the fact that he was employed by a psychopath. A legally responsible psychopath with good intentions and full immunity and means, but a psychopath nonetheless.

The fact that he seemed to be in pain was curious, but Danny knew that curiosity had killed the hypothetical cat, and Danny was not so curious as to want to die just at the moment and as far as he was concerned, sleeping through pain was much better than being awake in pain, so slipping back into unconsciousness was really his preference.

The universe didn't agree. Which really went to figure.

"Danny? Are you awake?"

His eyes were closed, so it seemed like a stupid question, though the universe probably had its means and methods.

"Danny?"

Especially if the universe was Steve McGarrett.

Psychopathic and completely devoid of common sense and normal courtesy. Who else would bother a semiconscious person when they were studiously trying to become even more unconscious?

"Come on, Danny," Steve said again, more encouraging this time. As if he could make his voice sound friendly enough to make Danny want to wake up and subject himself to the horrors of reality.

And then, because Steve wasn't content with inflicting Danny with the sound of his voice, he decided to touch him, too.

It was a gentle touch, Danny supposed, a light squeeze on his arm.

But what the hell was Steve doing _touching him_?

They were partners. Brothers in arms. Men. Danny would use the word _friend_ if he had to, and he would willing walk into Steve's house when needed, but they were not on a touching basis. It was bad enough that Steve wanted to psychoanalyze him all the time, and Danny could deal with some caring and sharing when the situation called for it, but men didn't touch, especially not in gentle, reassuring squeezes.

As if this day couldn't get any worse. His throat hurt, his body ached, he felt vaguely sick, Steve was talking to him, and now he was being _touched _by his partner against his will.

Damn it. All he wanted was to slip back into oblivion, to let this unfortunate version of reality dissipate, and sleep his way to a better future.

But there wasn't much he could do about it now. His frustrations were mounting and the pain was spiking and Danny really needed to tell Steve how he felt.

His eyes cracked open, almost unexpectedly, and the light made him flinch away. The flinching re-ignited fresh pain throughout his body, and he suck in a breath that irritated his throat. The tickle turned into a full-blown cough, and tears sprang to Danny's eyes as he hacked, jarring his body and eliciting even more pain.

The horrible cycle seemed set on repeating itself until Steve intervened with another gentle squeeze.

At that, Danny swallowed back the coughs and opened his eyes again. He had to squint to make sense of it all, and the fact that he was in a hospital was more than marginally disconcerting, but there was time for that later.

First things first. He narrowed his gaze, pinning Steve with the best glare he could muster. "Why are you touching me?"

His voice sounded horrific, garbled and strained, but he counted on his words being understood from sheer antipathy alone.

Steve's brow furrowed. "What?"

Danny swallowed gingerly, working saliva into his sore throat. He lifted his chin, nodding toward his arm. "You're touching me," he said again, quieter this time, but just as virulently.

Steve's eyes flashed to his arm, and his fingers loosened, his hand pulling away and resting on the handrail on Danny's bed instead. "I was just trying to get you to wake up," he explained.

Danny scowled, cognizant of the fact that the facial movements made his entire head feel funny. Still, the expression was too important to the conversation to so easily dismiss it for something like pain. "You were groping me," he said, trying to rally his strength but finding it hard.

Because he was tired. Tired and sore and sleeping didn't sound like a mere escape at this point, but almost a necessity. It all begged the question of what exactly had happened, but given the way his body felt, Danny was actually pretty sure he didn't want to know.

Steve merely looked amused. "You do know that two people are capable of touching in a totally platonic way, don't you?"

Danny tried to arch his eyebrows, but found his face almost too stiff to make it work. Lifting one hand, he ignored the IVs as he gestured toward Steve. "Sure, it's called a handshake," Danny said. "Maybe a pat on the shoulder. A punch on the arm. Not a gentle squeeze. I'm in a hospital bed, for goodness sake. What are you doing here anyway, holding a bedside vigil?"

Steve sat back a little more at that, surprise registering on his face. "You know, it's customary for people to wake up in the hospital to ask about themselves, not others."

Danny shifted slightly in the bed, but refused to concede the point. "I don't seem to have a choice in my condition," he said. He lifted his hand again. "You do, and you chose to spend it holding my hand for some reason."

Steve sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "I was trying to help you wake up."

"And I was trying to sleep," Danny replied crossly.

"You've been sleeping long enough," Steve said.

And there was something in his partner's voice that gave him pause. Something guarded, something worried. Something tired, something weary.

Danny swore mentally. Steve was scared. That was why his partner had been reduced to groping him in unconsciousness, because he was scared.

Downright terrified, if Danny could read his partner right. There was a growing stubble on his face, thicker and darker than usual. There circles under his eyes were pronounced and his short, cropped hair was disheveled. His face was pale in the cheeks, and he was sitting hunched ever so slightly off center. To top it all off, he had an impressive shiner on one eye, a small array of cuts and bruises on his cheek, and in the entire time Danny had been awake, Steve hadn't looked away once.

Maybe asking about his own condition wasn't so far off base, because if Steve was actually scared of something, then it couldn't be good. And considering the myriad of pains throughout his body, Danny could only guess that it was a bit of an understatement when Steve said he'd been sleeping long enough.

So much for blissful oblivion. Hello, cold and cruel reality.

Danny pressed his lips together, and gathered a breath. "So, uh. Are you going to make me guess why I'm here?"

Steve arched his eyebrows, looking at him intently. "What do you remember?"

Nothing, if he kept his memory stubbornly at bay. His consciousness was still fuzzy, blurred with pain and dulled sensations, and trying to figure out why the hell Steve was holding his hand was easier than thinking about why he was in this miserable place to begin with.

Still, the time for ignorance had come and gone and if Danny was stuck with the starkness of reality, he might as well give it a go.

Frowning, he traced his memories back, swimming through the murky sea of pain and half-formed realizations. The first concrete image that came to mind was handcuffs.

Danny had never been one for kinky foreplay, so he could only assume that the image was of a less enjoyable variety.

Which meant-

He blinked, and he made out the tenderness on his wrists.

He'd been handcuffed. To a chair.

That realization gave way to a wave of memories. Steve and the warehouse, Blaine and the kid. The gun and the beating and oh, crap-

"I was shot," he said, almost surprised. He looked back at Steve, unable to stop the wide-eyed wonder from showing on his face. "We were kidnapped and the son of a bitch shot me."

The look on Steve's face was a mix of relief and regret, and to his credit, he kept it mostly composed beyond that. He nodded briefly. "Things got pretty touch and go there for a while," he said.

It was a subtle confession, and Danny wasn't entirely sure he was ready to know just what he'd almost touched and how close he'd come to going.

Fortunately, there were other gaps in this story that Steve could fill in that didn't involve Danny considering his own mortality. "So how did we get out of there?" he asked. He tried to shrug one shoulder, but it was a pathetic effort.

If Steve noticed Danny's pitiful attempts to punctuate his conversation with nonverbal cues, he mercifully didn't comment on it. "It's not important."

At that, Danny blinked, his own feelings of feeble ridiculousness giving way to surprise. "It's not important?"

Steve shrugged, his gaze diverting to his hands. "It got pretty hectic there."

"Yeah," Danny agreed with as much incredulity as he could muster with his strained voice. "It got pretty hectic when I was awake, but that didn't mean we were close to getting out of there. Somehow I'm guessing that Blaine didn't just let us walk away."

Steve glanced at him. "You weren't walking by that point, anyway."

Danny glared. "Thanks for the reminder," he said curtly. "Though by the looks of you, I'm not sure you were either."

Steve seemed to accede that point. "Like I said, it got hectic."

"What, did Blaine turn on you when he figured out that I wasn't waking up?" Danny pushed.

"It's really not important," Steve said dismissively.

But Danny wasn't one to be dismissed. Not on a good day and most certainly not when he had been beaten and shot and woken up in a hospital room with his partner trying to grope him. Adamantly, he shook his head, lifting one hand minutely. "It is important," he said. "Because when someone's in a hospital bed, everything is important. I want to know how the hell I ended up here and if I should be thankful for waking up at all or pissed at how close I came to dying. Blaine didn't just let us go, and you wouldn't have gotten that roughed up if Chin and Kono saved the day. When someone passes out in the line of duty, they get to know what happened. End of story."

Steve seemed to blanch a little, shifting in his seat. He sighed, meeting Danny's gaze wearily. "I worked on Malcolm," he said. "The kid was being blackmailed."

That didn't come as a surprise, though it was annoying that he hadn't been able to figure that out on his own. He should have focused more on his interrogation. Though, really, drifting in and out of consciousness was probably an apt excuse for neglecting his detective duties. Danny nodded. "So he decided to help?"

Steve nodded back. "And it was working until Blaine came back and caught us."

Danny winced.

Steve inclined his head grimly. "He shot Malcolm."

Normally, it would have been hard to find sympathy for those who were willing accomplices in his own kidnapping, but Malcolm was hardly willing, and Danny couldn't help but feel a pang. "Is he okay?"

"He woke up not long before you," Steve confirmed.

"Okay, so. Malcolm tries to help you and fails. But you're still here, beat to hell," he said, eyeing Steve with suspicion. "So, what, he got pissed at your attempt?"

"To say the least," Steve said wryly.

And that all made enough sense and it made something of a coherent picture, if a somewhat unpleasant one. And Danny knew it was possible that his brain was still too addled and that his senses were still too dim, but there was still something of this story missing. "But how did you get out?"

Steve shrugged again, a little noncommittally.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to remind you that I'm in a hospital bed?" he asked. "That I have wires and tubes all over the place, including one that should be outlawed as a violation of my manhood?"

"I just kept buying time," Steve said.

"Do I need to be more specific about the tubes or are you going to ante up here?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I told him the truth," he said. "I told him what he wanted to know."

Danny had to admit, of all the answers he thought he might get, that really hadn't been in it. Because Steve was a man of his principles and he'd staked their lives early on the plan to hold out, and Danny had made him promise to stick to it.

His brow furrowed and his heart skipped a beat. He lifted both his hands, holding them out. "You told him?"

Steve nodded simply.

Just a simple nod. Matter of fact. "After 12 hours of beating and questioning and beating and getting shot, you _told _him," Danny said.

"Yes, I told him."

No excuses. No explanations. Just plain fact, like Danny was supposed to get it. More than that, like Danny was supposed to accept it.

And maybe, on a good day.

No, not on a good day. And certainly not today. "I told you not to," he said. "I told you, as I was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, not to. I mean, I did tell you that, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did-" Steve began.

"And didn't you even refuse to tell me? I mean, didn't we have an entire conversation where I asked to know and you flatly refused?"

"Danny-"

"No, I just need to make sure that I'm remembering this correctly. You know, that the blood loss didn't make me remember something different, or warp my version of reality. Because normally, when partners agree to something, they stick with it. You know, promises. Trust. I trusted you."

Steve's eyes flashed. "I know," he said. "You trusted me to get us out of there. That was why I never told you and why I refused to tell Blaine. To give you the best chance I could of getting out of there alive."

There was an intensity in his partner's voice, a cold veracity that Danny couldn't bring himself to question. The simple frankness of it all, the veiled emotion that drove it, deflated Danny, and he felt his energy to debate this topic wane. Because in all the hows and whys and wherefores, he still knew without asking that Steve had done it for him.

It didn't make a lot of sense, but when it came to partnership, sometimes making sense wasn't what mattered. Because Danny couldn't often explain his partner's completely irrational and idiotic behavior, but he always knew it was well intentioned.

Adrenaline simmering, Danny let himself relax, his body feeling suddenly wearier than it had before.

Steve adjusted stiffly in his seat, still looking at Danny guardedly. "Malcolm told me who was blackmailing him," he explained quietly. "The person I was protecting was the person who started all this. I was protecting the wrong person, and telling Blaine was my only option."

Apparently today was a day of surprises. From waking up in a hospital to finding out that Steve had finally compromised his moral stance to finding out that even Superman was wrong sometimes, Danny didn't actually know how much more he could take. There was a growing throbbing in his skull that seemed to be fighting for attention with the aching in his side, and all of this was without even truly knowing the nuances of the case that they were talking about.

Because the entire thing had been a mess from the beginning. Past cases and old grudges, mixed with fresh self-righteousness and desperate plans. They'd always figured that Blaine had some pressure from the outside, but the idea that Blaine was being pressured by the one person that they were trying to protect was a cruel twist of fate.

It made him seriously reconsider the adage about an enemy of an enemy, because from where Danny was laying, they all pretty much sucked.

Looking at Steve, it was pretty clear he wasn't the only one who felt that way. If Danny felt worse, Steve looked just as bad, and he was suddenly struck with the thought that if Steve's superhero powers continued to digress, Danny would have no means with which to catch him if he fell at this particular moment in time. Because Danny was probably about two sudden movements from passing out and given his total need to talk with his hands, it probably wouldn't be long.

Still, holding onto consciousness seemed important for the time being. Not that he wasn't willing to welcome oblivion again, but because there was no way he could, in good conscience, pass out and leave his partner looking like some kind of kicked puppy on the street corner.

Wetting his lips, Danny worked to get more saliva in his sore throat. "Well, that makes sense," he said simply.

Steve actually looked genuinely relieved, tension draining from his shoulders.

"But that still doesn't explain how you got out," Danny said. "I mean, I can't see Blaine as the kind of guy to forgo murder just because he got what he wanted."

Steve blinked, then nodded. "No, he was going to kill me."

Danny looked expectant. "What, you disarmed him with your super x-ray vision?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "I got out of the cuffs."

It was Danny's turn to blink. "You got out of the cuffs."

Steve nodded readily. "I told you, just a little pressure and the right leverage, they popped right open."

Danny blinked again, hoping against hope that he was hearing things incorrectly on account of his still precarious condition. When Steve didn't readily correct himself, Danny said, "They just popped right open."

"Sure."

"You're kidding, right?"

Steve's face broke into a grin. "Yeah, I'm kidding," he said. "Malcolm slipped me something to get them off with before Blaine came back."

Danny stared a second more, as Steve's words processed through his brain. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

Steve's grin widened. "Yeah, I know."

Danny shook his head, sinking back down morosely. "Leverage," he muttered. "You know, I would think that this little incident would have taught you that you're not a superhero and you should really try living a little more carefully since you are in fact not bulletproof."

"I could have done it," Steve defended. "I still got us out of there."

"Yeah, and I could have used the blood on my wrists to slip my hands right out," Danny shot back.

"I should have thought of that," Steve said. "A lubricant always helps."

Danny glared. "I'm not sure I'm okay with you using the word lubricant when I woke up with you groping me."

Steve's face twisted in wry amusement. "You must be on some pretty good drugs there, Danno."

"Or some horrible ones," he countered.

"Maybe you'll feel better when you wake up again," Steve suggested.

It was in Danny's nature to disagree, but he had to think that maybe Steve was right about this one. Because he felt tired and sore and for as much as he wanted to make Steve realize that sometimes they were strongest when they admitted their weaknesses - that sometimes protection had to be a two-way street - it was probably a conversation for another day. A day when he was less miserable and less drugged and less hooked up to every machine on the entire island.

There'd be time for the rest, he figured. Time to ream Steve out good and proper, to remind him about correct police procedure and how to keep a partner fully informed at all times. And, maybe even a time to thank him in the end for saving his ass.

Maybe.

"Fine," he said, eyes already drooping. "But I swear, if you're groping me again-"

Steve chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Just go to sleep," he said.

Danny settled deeper, blinking slowly. He startled for a moment, eyes opening to fix on his partner's face. "You'll call Grace?"

"Already taken care of," Steve confirmed.

"And you'll make Rachel let her come?"

"As soon as you're awake again."

Danny nodded, his tensions fading. "And you'll be here when I wake up?"

Danny's eyes drifted closed, mind easing its grip on reality once again. As he began to shift away, he heard his partner's voice, calm and steady. "No place I'd rather be."

And when darkness came, it was neither vast or cold, but warm and easy as Danny slept on.

_end_


End file.
